


From Rivendell to Rauros

by Ithiliana



Series: The Roads of Middle-earth [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: AU, FPS, LOTR, Multi, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-14
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 53,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiliana/pseuds/Ithiliana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Alternate Universe. Draws on book chronology. This fic assumes a reader has some knowledge of book and film; and while I am not specifically quoting, I am not resisting memories of phrases and terminology which may be woven in (although in different characters' mouths).</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. From Rivendell to Rauros

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Universe. Draws on book chronology. This fic assumes a reader has some knowledge of book and film; and while I am not specifically quoting, I am not resisting memories of phrases and terminology which may be woven in (although in different characters' mouths).

** _July 4 3018_ ** ** __ **

 

Boromir left Minas Tirith early that morning, rising in the dark before dawn.  He had said his farewells to his father and brother after daymeal and had packed supplies the night before, leaving his packs in the stable.  This morning, he had only to dress, arm himself, and leave.  He left through the kitchen so he could break his fast with the morning’s first bread.

 

Walking from the Citadel to the stables in the sixth circle, he knew his father’s decision for him to make the journey to Imladris was right.  He was the one best suited to seek the meaning of the dream.  When he reached the stables, he bridled and saddled his horse, making sure the packs were securely strapped on and balanced, then led the animal out the door.  Within a few moments, he was riding through the gate in the sixth wall, moving down through the City along the paved way that ran back and forth between the seven walls.

 

By the time he had reached the Great Gate, the sun was rising above the mass of Mount Mindolluin.  This day would be beautiful.  Boromir allowed himself a last look back as the silver trumpets sounded at the rising of the sun, seeing the Tower of Ecthelion shining silver in the first light of  morning. 

 

Then Boromir set his face to the West, toward Anórien.  The first stages through Anórien  to Rohan were familiar from earlier visits he had made to Rohan.  But all that lay north of the land of the Horselords was unfamiliar to him, a faraway land for children’s stories in Gondor.  He planned to go through the Gap of Rohan, cross the Isen, and then turn North.  After that he would be traveling through unknown lands. 

 

The only lore his father knew of Imladris was that of old the Elves spoke of Elrond Half-elven, a great lore-master, who lived in the far North.  Boromir had brought copies of maps from Minas Tirith, but none of them showed Imladris.  The way would no doubt be long and difficult. 

 

Had the dream not come so often, he would have dismissed it as nonsense.  He was still half-inclined to doubt the dream was prophecy.  But with the Nameless One’s new attacks and the loss of Osgiliath, he felt he had to pursue any chance for aid. 

 

That day was bright and warm, the road out of the City well traveled.  Since he was riding in familiar territory, well patrolled, Boromir did not worry about safety his first night.  Still, as he prepared his meal, ate, and wrapped himself in his fur-lined cloak to sleep, he felt briefly the nagging sense that he was being watched.  He lay for a while, eyes shut, feigning sleep, while he listened.  He heard nothing more than the natural noises of night.  Only if those noises suddenly stopped would he take alarm.  After a while he slept.

 

The next morning, as he broke camp, he was not aware of being watched.  He washed his hands and face, ate bread, cheese, and fruit, and prepared his horse for the day’s travel.  Nothing.  But the feeling reappeared late in the morning and grew stronger during the day. 

 

Boromir rode on, unable to enjoy the warmth, the greenness of Anórien spreading to the horizon, grass starred gold and red and blue by the last of the spring wildflowers.  Were there spies in the City?  Was the Nameless Enemy already aware of his quest to Imladris?  Would the spy bring orcs down upon him once he had reached the Wild?

 

By nightfall, Boromir had decided what to do.  He did as he had done the night before, grooming his horse, hobbling it to a lead rope so the animal could easily reach food and water.  He built no fire, eating a cold daymeal.  He wrapped himself in his cloak to sleep.  The grass was soft and lush, and he lay silently, as the Moon climbed into the sky. Near the middle of the night, he rose and moved quietly back along his trail, sword in hand.

 

Well out of sight and sound of his camp, he heard a soft snort, the sound of hooves.  The noises came from beyond a small grove of trees to his left.  Taking even greater care, he approached the grove from downwind, treading softly.  Easing through the trees, he came to the edge of the grove and saw a tethered horse beyond, cropping grass in the moonlight.  Boromir relaxed as he recognized the horse although the sight made him angry.  A dark shape lay on the ground. 

 

Boromir reached out to the nearest tree and broke a twig, the noise sounding unnaturally loud in the night.  The figure before him leaped up, flinging off a cloak and crouching, knife ready.  Boromir was not surprised to recognize the movement even before he saw his brother’s face in the moonlight.  Sheathing his sword, Boromir stepped out from under the tree.

 

Faramir relaxed as he saw Boromir, but said nothing. Waiting for Boromir to speak, he returned his knife to the belt sheath.

 

"Why are you here?" Boromir said.  "Our father gave this task to me."

 

Faramir tilted his head, crossing his arms in a stance Boromir recognized from the hours they had argued in front of their father.  "You persuaded him to give you leave, but you did not persuade me.  The dream came most often to me."

 

"You must return.  The City needs you.  We cannot both leave."

 

"I could say the same to you."  Faramir’s voice was quiet but had an inflexible tone that was new to Boromir. 

 

His brother had never set his will against Boromir’s before. 

 

"The City cannot spare both of us.  Our father needs one of us to remain at his command," Boromir said.

 

"Then you should return.  You are the High Warden and Captain-General."

 

"And so I order you to return."  Boromir stepped forward, angry.  He had thought this contest over.  Why was Faramir trying to challenge his will, the will of their father?  Did he desire some share of the glory that would come from the successful completion of this quest?

 

"I will not."

 

"You will!"  Boromir, angered as much by the lack of emotion in his brother’s voice as by his refusal to obey, grabbed Faramir’s shoulders, shaking him, shoving him back a few paces against a tree.

 

Faramir did not attempt to fight, his body relaxed under his brother’s hands. 

 

"How will you make me?" 

 

Faramir sounded genuinely curious, Boromir thought.  Frustrated, his hands tightened enough to cause bruises, but Faramir uttered no complaint.

 

Boromir was sure he could beat his brother in a fight.  But simply besting him would not return him to Minas Tirith.  And Boromir was coldly afraid that there was no time for him to escort his brother back and ensure he not follow again. 

 

The Nameless Enemy’s forces had driven them out of Osgiliath in June.  Only he and his brother and two others had survived the attack on the last bridge.  Boromir knew the Enemy would soon attack in greater force, his wrath reserved especially for Gondor and its people.  The journey to Imladris and back would be long.  No more time could be wasted.  Even a day might make the difference  between defeat and victory.

 

Faramir’s silent passivity and resolution baffled him.  "Will you not tell me your reason?" Boromir asked, hoping to try to convince his brother to return since he refused the order. 

 

"I dare not. Will you not trust my reason is strong enough to make me abandon my duty?"  For the first time, Faramir’s voice revealed emotion though Boromir could not be sure what emotion.  He thought it fear. 

 

Boromir released Faramir, stepping back, flexing his hands to relieve the pain from the pressure he had been exerting.  Cautiously, Faramir stepped away from the tree, wincing as he moved, watching Boromir.

 

"We can talk further in the morning," Boromir said.  "Will you join me tonight?"

 

"And my answer will not differ in the light of day."

 

Boromir sighed.  His brother had always been quiet, willing to be led in the past.  Apparently that was changing, along with so much else.  He realized that, like it or not, admit it or not, he would have company on the way to Imladris.  And, despite his anger and frustration, he felt  warmth within that he would not have to travel so far over so many empty lands alone.

 

* * * * * * *

** _October 25, 3018_ **

 

Frodo left the Hall of Fire, leaving Bilbo nodding happily off to sleep on his stool.  The singing was as beautiful as the night before, the light of Elvish faces as unearthly.  But he could not sit still.  He could not bear to listen to more songs about the past, a past that he knew Elrond and many of his Kin could remember as easily as if the events had taken place yesterday. 

 

As Frodo walked quietly down the passages, stone cool and smooth beneath his feet, he reflected that the Men in the songs were all long dead.  And, needless to say, none of the songs mentioned Hobbits. Hobbits had lived as long in Middle-earth as Men had.  Their own histories and songs, collected by Bilbo and discussed with Gandalf, who had long studied Hobbits, proved how ancient a people they were.  But Hobbits remained little known outside the Shire.

 

Frodo left the passage for the terraces above the river.  He could wish that the wide world’s lack of awareness about his people had continued. Could have wished, if it would do any good, that the Ring had never come to him. 

 

The Ring hung heavily on the fine gold chain around his neck, a warning and a threat.  The menacing voice he had felt earlier today, in the Council meeting, as Men, Elves, and Dwarves had quarreled about what to do with the Ring, rang in his mind.  Flames reached out to consume the figures fighting amongst themselves. 

 

Frodo’s hand crept up to press against the Ring before he realized it.  He pulled his hand away, forced himself to continue walking.

 

A full moon shone brightly amidst stars. Frodo saw Remmirath, and red Borgil, then found Menelvagor.  The light was so bright he could see details of the murals which decorated the walls behind him.  A nightbird sang. All around him was peace and beauty, but within he could sense fear and anger growing.

 

Wearily, Frodo sat on one of the stone benches that lined the terraces, hoisting himself up, his feet dangling.  He did not wish to return to his room where he would be alone with his thoughts.  And with the Ring.  He thought about searching for Merry and Pippin, then realized he did not wish to hear to their light-hearted jokes and laughter.  Seeing how close they were reminded Frodo too much of Sam who had left him to marry Rosie and settle down to raise a family.  And that thought made him ache.

 

When Merry and Pippin had declared they would accompany him to Mordor, after he had said he would take the Ring, their love and commitment had cheered him.  But now, sitting alone, Frodo knew that they did not truly understand what they faced. Both of them, Pippin especially, still saw this journey as an exciting adventure like Bilbo’s.  There and back again but even better because they were going together.

 

Merry and Pippin thought that they would be facing danger but knew they would triumph and  return home with treasure and stories to tell the children in later years.  Frodo knew better, ever since Weathertop.  The ache in his shoulder grew, and he felt chilled, shivering despite the warmth of the evening in the protected valley which seemed to hold back the chill of autumn.

 

The sound of boots on stone startled Frodo.  He looked up and saw a dark form approaching.  Even knowing that the valley was under Elrond’s power, Frodo was still fearful until the figure moved into the moonlight and stopped. 

 

Moonlight shone on fair hair and a face Frodo recognized from the Council.  This grave young man had sat beside Boromir, saying nothing.  At times during the tense exchanges, Frodo had taken pleasure in watching the unknown face, one that seemed kind to him, that had not shown the anger and greed some of the others had.

 

The stranger placed a hand on his breast and bowed his head slightly.  "We have not met, Frodo," he said.  "My name is Faramir.  I accompanied my brother Boromir from Minas Tirith to Imladris."

 

Frodo slid off the bench to stand and return Faramir’s greeting, a bow of the head.

 

"My apologies if I have interrupted you," Faramir said.

 

Frodo hesitated a moment, then said, "You have not.  I was thinking."

 

Faramir nodded, saying nothing, looking at Frodo who felt an air of sympathy, concern even, from him.  Unlike Boromir whose passion at the meeting earlier had made Frodo nervous.

 

The silence between them was heightened by the sound of falling water from many waterfalls and the nightbird’s song.  Perhaps it was the night, but Frodo suddenly felt bold.

 

"If you are not needed elsewhere," he said, "please join me."

 

Faramir smiled, then came forward to sit on the bench.  Frodo climbed up, turning to face Faramir, and sat cross-legged on the wide seat. 

 

Frodo felt nervous.  Other than the Innkeeper at Bree, and Aragorn, of course, he had never spoken to Big Folk.  And he had never been alone with one for any time.  So he was glad when Faramir spoke first.

 

"We know little of Halflings in my country," he said.  "Do they all have such courage as you, to leave home and to take on such a burden?"

 

 

"Please," he said.  "Do not say such things.  I was just realizing how afraid I am to do what I must do."  Frodo looked down, closed his eyes against Faramir’s reaction, sure that he would speak as  scornfully as Boromir had when he challenged Aragorn. 

 

Frodo heard cloth rasp across stone, felt a warm hand under his chin gently tilt his face up.  Wary, he opened his eyes to see Faramir sitting next to him, looking down, faintly smiling.

 

"Frodo," Faramir’s voice was low.  "Do you think that having courage means never feeling fear?"

  
 "Of course," Frodo said.  "The heroes in all the old stories and songs were courageous.  They never--"

 

Faramir dropped his hand, and laughed.  Frodo missed the warmth of his touch and was confused by the laughter.  He did not think what he had said was amusing. 

 

"Your home must be a peaceful place," Faramir said, confusing Frodo even more.

 

"Yes," he said.  "No hobbit except Bilbo can remember the last time there was any threat to the Shire.  And that was only an attack of wolves during the Fell Winter decades ago.  While some weapons are left from earlier days when Hobbits had to fight to survive, most are stored in the Mathom-house."

 

"The what?"  Faramir said.

 

"The Mathom-house.  Things we do not need to use every day but do not wish to throw away we call ‘mathoms,’" Frodo said.  As he spoke, Frodo felt homesick for the peacefulness of the Shire although he remembered that, at times when he was growing up, he had thought that what the hobbits truly needed was a dragon attack.

 

"I thought so.  Frodo, you speak of the old songs and stories.  Where do you think they come from?"

 

"I never thought," Frodo said.  "I do not know.  They have always been there."

 

"As is the case in my City," Faramir said, "Although I have seen old scrolls with different versions of a song or a story in our Archives.  But of one thing I am sure.  None of the heroes composed those songs or wrote down the stories of their own adventures.  If they had and if they were honest, I believe that at least a few would have described feeling just what you are feeling now.  Courage means doing what you know you must even though you feel fear.  Those who train for war and fight soon learn that."

 

Frodo felt better.  What Faramir said made sense.  And Bilbo’s own book about his adventures had made it clear, Frodo now realized, that he had feared at times even though the stories he’d told the children never revealed that.  But despite fear, Bilbo had gone on.  He had not given up.

 

"I understand," Frodo said.  "Thank you."

 

"Frodo, I--"  Faramir’s voice sounded  strained.

 

Frodo looked closely, trying to discern the expression on his face, but, at that moment, Gandalf approached, the tip of his staff shining faintly.

 

"Frodo!  I am glad I found you.  I looked for you in the Hall of Fire and worried when I could not find you.  You should be in bed.  You still need to rest and recover from your wound."

 

Frodo was surprised to find himself angry at Gandalf’s appearance.  He wanted to hear what Faramir had been going to say.  And not to be sent off to bed like a child!

 

Faramir stood, bowing to Gandalf, then turning to Frodo and offering him a hand to help him down from the bench. "I am sorry to have kept you, Frodo," he said.  "Take your rest, and perhaps we can talk further tomorrow."

 

Frodo took the warm hand and swung his legs down, letting Faramir support him a moment.  "You did not keep me," he said.  "I am glad we had the chance to speak."

 

Gandalf laid his hand on Frodo’s shoulder.  "Come along, my dear hobbit," he said. 

 

* * * * * * *

** _October 26, 3018_ **** **

The next morning dawned clear and golden, and Frodo woke early.  He rose and dressed, joining Bilbo for breakfast in his room.  There, he enjoyed bread that was the best Frodo had ever tasted, hot and covered with melting sweet butter, fruits that were strange to him but held a sweetness and richness beyond compare.  A creamy drink unlike anything he had ever tasted accompanied the food.  After eating his fill, Frodo walked along the terraces hoping to see Faramir again. 

 

Instead, he met Gandalf and Aragorn who took him off to Elrond’s library to study maps and books of lore that concerned their journey.  Since he had told the Council that he did not know the way to Mordor, his friends seemed determined to remedy his ignorance.

 

Usually, Frodo loved studying maps and reading old books especially when Gandalf would tell him stories of  far-away places and peoples.  And Elrond’s library, covering several rooms, was the most amazing place he’d ever seen.  Paneled in wood, filled with cases full of books and maps and a myriad of fascinating objects, the rooms were filled with beautiful furniture and art.  Frodo thought he could happily spend days exploring the library, but he was placed at one of the tables on a chair that was too big for him and given a stack of maps to study.

 

Frodo found himself restless, unable to pay attention to the maps.  And Gandalf and Aragorn told no stories.  Instead, they were debating the best road to take.  When Elrond brought Boromir in to meet with the others, Frodo took the chance to leave, pleading the need for food and a rest.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir watched Frodo leave, frustrated.  He had hoped to talk more to the Halfling, to convince him of the necessity of going to Gondor.  He turned to Gandalf and Aragorn.  Perhaps he could convince them.

 

"I have brought the maps I told you about," he said.  He placed them on the polished table.

 

Gandalf stood.  "Perhaps you and Aragorn can see what new information Gondor can provide.  I would like to talk further with Elrond about the threat of Saruman."

 

Boromir watched as Mithrandir and Elrond left together, talking about some kind of new orc.  He did not trust the wizard, had not acknowledged that he remembered him from his occasional visits to Minas Tirith.  And Elves.  Faramir knew more about the history of Men and Elves than Boromir did, but he knew enough to believe that there could be good reason for the ages-long parting of the races.  Boromir thought the Elves’ time was passing, leaving Middle-earth free for Men. 

 

"Boromir?"

 

Boromir started, and turned back to the table.  Aragorn had unrolled the first of the maps and was looking at him.

 

Moving forward, Boromir examined the map.  "That is a copy of the oldest of the maps I found in our Archives," he said.  "Let me show you the newest as well."

 

He bent over the table, and they began to compare the maps with the ones Elrond had.

 

hey had discovered some differences in the roads, but none Boromir would consider vital to the journey.

 

"Surely you can see that the best route is one that will take us by way of Gondor," Boromir said.  "Saruman’s treachery is a clear sign we should avoid the Gap of Rohan.  If we take the road to my city, then…."

 

"The Gap of Rohan is dangerous," Aragorn said.  "But I do not wish to take Frodo and the Ring to Minas Tirith.  Your city has stood against Sauron throughout the ages, but that very resistance makes it likely that his Eye is closely turned toward Gondor.  His spies are everywhere."

 

"Our destination leaves us few choices of roads, none good," Boromir pointed out.  "I can lead you easily over the western roads that brought us to Imladris until we reach the Isen.  If you wish to avoid the Gap of Rohan, we can cross the Isen and travel through Langstrand and Lebennin and thus come to Gondor from the lands near the sea." 

 

Boromir thought, but did not say, that such a road would also avoid Fangorn and Lothlorien, forests that the Men of Gondor had shunned in the past centuries.

 

Aragorn said, "I have traveled in lands far to the South and the East, even into Harad where the stars are strange.  I know the roads and lands you speak of.  We might spend a year journeying through lands that are under the eyes of our enemies.  We need to choose a road that will take us as directly South as possible.  Then, perhaps, we will have to choose which passage through the Misty Mountains seems safest.  And we must travel under cover of night."

 

Boromir frowned.  "But if we go to Gondor, then…"

 

Aragorn moved around the table to stand across from Boromir.  Stacking the maps, Aragorn interrupted him.  "Come," he said.  "We cannot make any decision now, so early.  We have many days before Elrond’s last scouts return, and their reports will tell us what gathering of forces we may face.  Gandalf and Elrond will still have something to say about our road.  I would also talk more to Gimli and Legolas concerning their knowledge of the lands and roads we will journey through."

 

Boromir held the hilt of his sword tightly.  He felt a surge of feeling, of anger he told himself, at Aragorn’s refusal to listen to him.

 

"In Gondor, we do not take orders from such," he said.

 

Aragorn looked at Boromir, his hands still on the parchment.  "Orders?" he said, softly.  "I am not taking orders.  From anyone.  But shared knowledge can only help us.  I know the history of Gondor’s long battle against Sauron, Boromir, for who would know it better?  But do not doubt me when I say that Men cannot stand alone against this threat.  The Men of Gondor will be only one of the free peoples who fight for Middle-earth."

 

Boromir flinched at the Name Aragorn and the others here used so casually.  But he forced himself to put away his anger, knowing that at least Aragorn’s last statement was true.  Gondor had dwindled in recent years and could not stand alone. 

 

Aragorn finished stacking the maps.  "Come to nuncheon."

 

Boromir, frowning, followed him out of the library.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo ate in the hall, seeing others of the Fellowship there but not Faramir.  Finally, bored and frustrated, he left to explore the woods and hills to the north.  The quiet of the pine-woods soothed him.  He enjoyed the chance to walk quietly among trees and to feel the earth beneath his feet.  Before he left the Shire, he had not understood what luxury it was not to have to rush, not to fear pursuit. 

 

He went further than he had intended and was caught by a sudden rain shower.  By the time he returned to the house, he was soaked through and shivering.  He entered by the closest door, hurrying to get to his room and change clothes.  Rounding a corner, he ran into someone, tripped, and fell.  He looked up to see Faramir who knelt beside him.

 

"You are drenched, Frodo," Faramir said.  "What happened?"

 

"I was just walking in the woods," Frodo said, scrambling to his feet. "And was caught in the rain."  He shivered as he stood in the passage, chilled by the fresh breeze blowing through the door.

 

Faramir rose as well.  "You need to get out of those clothes," he said.  "The baths are just along this passage.  You can be in a hot bath in a few moments."

 

 

This room was large and luxurious.  A large tiled pool filled the center of the room, with steps leading down to it.  Smaller basins off to the side provided places to wash.  A bench ran around three of the walls, and, in the corners, shelves held piles of drying cloths.

 

"This is amazing," Frodo said.

 

"It is," Faramir agreed.  "Master Elrond told me that he has drawn hot springs from deep in the Earth to provide a constant supply of hot water.  We have nothing like this even in Gondor these days."

 

Faramir pulled out a drying cloth from a shelf and set it down on the bench close to the pool. "Let me fetch you dry clothing," he said.  "You do not want to risk a chill."

 

Frodo, shivering, agreed.  He told Faramir that his room was on the side of the house  overlooking the River and described the passages he would need to take to find the room.  After Faramir left, Frodo stripped off his wet clothes, piling them on the bench, and washed in one of the smaller basins.  Then, cautiously, he climbed down into the hot pool.

 

Frodo sank into the hot water.  The middle of the pool was deep enough for him to submerge in, ducking his head under water for a few minutes, luxuriating in the warmth that penetrated to his bones.  Then he moved back to the shallow end to sit for a while.  He was almost dozing when he heard footsteps.

 

Opening his eyes, he saw Faramir follow Aragorn into the room. 

 

"Oh," Frodo said, sinking down and feeling himself turn redder than the heat of the water warranted.  "Aragorn."

 

Aragorn crossed to the pool and knelt beside it, smiling at Frodo. 

 

 

"I found Faramir searching for your room, and he told me of your mishap.  We’ve brought you dry clothing, but I also wanted to check on you."

 

"It was no mishap," Frodo said, irritated.  "I was simply caught in a rain shower.  Hobbits do not melt."

 

"Of course," Aragorn said.  "But you were wounded and have only recently risen from your bed.  I was concerned.  May I examine your shoulder."  Aragorn’s tone made it clear that he was not asking permission.

 

Frodo sighed and agreed.  He sat up and moved closer to allow Aragorn to examine him.  Aragorn pressed his fingers against the small white scar that was all that remained of the wound dealt by the Morgul knife after Elrond’s healing.  Frodo felt a faint tingle as Aragorn touched him, but no pain or coldness.

 

Aragorn smiled.  "The wound is healed.  I do not think that it will cause you more trouble.  But for a while, perhaps, you should not wander too far from the house.  Do not exert yourself.  We face another long and arduous journey.  You should return to your room for some rest.  I will ask them to bring your daymeal there.  Come, Faramir."

 

Faramir smiled at Frodo but followed Aragorn out.

 

Frodo closed his eyes and tried to remember how to curse in Elvish. Those words had been the first ones he had begged Bilbo to teach him.

 

He left the warmth of the pool, dried himself, and began to dress.  He had a feeling that if he did not obey Aragorn, the Ranger was quite capable of tracking him down, slinging him over his shoulder, and returning him to his bed.  Perhaps he could find Faramir more quickly tomorrow.

 

** _October 27, 3018_ ** ** __ **

 

Frodo halted in the door that led to the main room of Elrond’s library, searching for more Elvish curse words. He’d have to ask Bilbo to help him practice. 

 

This morning had started well with another enjoyable breakfast with Bilbo.  The Elves in Rivendell seemed to take great pleasure in providing the old hobbit with more than even a hobbit could desire in the way of food.  Frodo thought such a meal precluded any need for second breakfast. 

 

After eating his fill and telling Bilbo more of what had happened in the Shire since he left, Frodo had left Bilbo taking a nap and set out to try to find Faramir while avoiding Aragorn and Gandalf.  He had searched most of the house without success then had given up and come to the library.  Perhaps he could reassure Aragorn and Gandalf he was fully recovered so they would not try to restrict his movements in future.

 

The moment he entered the library, he saw Faramir with Aragorn and Gandalf. Frodo stood, watching Faramir. He was standing sideways to Frodo, bent over one of the polished tables, with parchment maps spread out in front of him, talking.  Boromir sat at the head of the table, drinking from a goblet. 

 

From where he stood, Frodo watched how Faramir’s red gold hair swung down to mask his face as he talked, how Faramir reached up to push it back, saw the firmness of long legs in tight green fabric. 

 

Frodo wondered why the two brothers dressed so differently, Boromir in fine silk and furs over chain mail, in colors of red and black, while Faramir wore green and brown, leather and woven fabrics.  Faramir would blend much better into the forest or plain on their journey, Frodo thought critically, than his brother. Bright colors and mail served to mark a leader on the battlefield, perhaps, but seemed a bad choice for a quest that depended upon secrecy for its success.

 

Lost in his thoughts, Frodo jumped when Aragorn hailed him.

 

"Frodo!  Join us!"

 

Reluctantly, Frodo entered the library, greeted the others, and was plunged into an examination on how well he remembered the maps he’d studied the previous day.  Unfortunately, he did not remember them very well. 

 

Frodo climbed up onto one of the tall chairs and settled down to review the different maps.  Boromir and Faramir had provided copies of maps from Gondor’s Archives and supplemented them with recent information covering their road, crossing the Isen and the Greyflood to travel North from the Gap of Rohan.  Aragorn had entered changes on the maps that they were studying. 

 

The main problem seemed to be how little information the maps and books had about Mordor. Of them all, only Aragorn had traveled in Mordor, and then only along the borders of the dark land.  And different maps gave varying information about all lands.  The maps that largely focused on a specific land, Gondor or Eriador, contained specifics not found on the maps showing all of Middle-earth.  Maps made at different times showed different settlements, and few agreed on distances between places.  Frodo found it very confusing and unlike the careful and correct maps the Hobbits had of the Shire.

 

"Elrond and others in Rivendell fought in the Last Battle of Men and Elves," Gandalf said, "That battle ranged from the Black Gates of Mordor to the slopes of Mount Orodruin.  But that was at the end of the Second Age, three thousand years ago.  Who knows what has changed since then?  Sauron can torture and destroy the very Earth itself." 

 

The other problem was that the Men could not agree on their road.  Boromir argued that the approach to Mordor was best made from Minas Tirith.  He wished the Fellowship to go South and then either East through the Gap of Rohan, or West through the lands that bordered the Sea.  Aragorn disagreed. 

 

There were few passages through the Misty Mountains in the Northern realm, none safe.  Gandalf’s news about Saruman’s treachery made Aragorn doubt the safety of the Gap of Rohan.  He argued that they should take the pass called the Redhorn Gate under the mountain called Caradhras and come down into the Dimrill Dale and thus continue South and East along the River Anduin.  Frodo located the pass Aragorn spoke of on the map. 

 

Gandalf said nothing, just listened to Aragorn and Boromir argue.

 

As Frodo listened to the others talk, he thought of Bilbo’s story of being lost deep in the northern Misty Mountains after he and the dwarves had been captured by goblins.  When he was separated from the dwarves and Gandalf, Bilbo had found the Ring and met Gollum.  If only they had gone by another pass, Frodo would not be facing this journey.

 

Frodo shoved the maps aside, noticing that Faramir did not argue for or against any of the proposed roads.  His quiet seemed to create a small space of calmness in the room, like a still pool that lay beyond dangerous rapids, a pool Frodo longer to enter.

 

After several more hours which left Frodo with a headache, the discussion was interrupted by a messenger from Elrond. The first of the scouts he had sent out had returned, and he wished Gandalf and Aragorn to hear the report.  Boromir followed them out.  Faramir stayed behind to stack the books and maps neatly on the tables. 

 

Frodo sat, swinging his feet, watching him.  "How long did your journey take?"  he asked.  He had studied the maps, but the distance from Rivendell to Mordor seemed so great that he could not get a sense of the time involved.

 

"We traveled 110 days," Faramir said, pausing and smiling at him.  "We left at high summer, and my reckoning is that we traveled over 400 leagues."

 

"Oh."  Frodo felt discouraged.

 

Faramir pulled out the chair next to Frodo and sat beside him.  He placed his hand on the map in front of Frodo.  "Take heart, Frodo.  We had no map that showed Imladris, no directions, beyond our father’s lore that Elrond Half-elven’s home was in the far North.  We did not know a direct road, so wasted a good deal of time.  And we lost one of our horses at the crossing of Tharbad which slowed us down.  We are studying to find the most direct and safest road possible for the Fellowship."

 

"Safest?"  Since the Black Riders had come to the Shire, Frodo doubted any road could be safe.

 

"No road is completely safe in these days," Faramir said.  "But some are more deadly than others."

 

Frodo traced the Ash Mountains and the Mountains of Shadow that surrounded Mordor.  They seemed an impenetrable barrier.  He found Minas Tirith on the map.  Then Ithilien.  And Minas Morgul guarding the one gap he could see in the defenses of the dark country.

 

Faramir touched the map lightly by Frodo’s hand.  "That way, Frodo, is one of the most dangerous.  In Gondor’s days of strength, our capitol was Osgiliath, the Citadel of the Stars." 

 

His hand moved to touch the Anduin where the City was located.  "Two outposts were built to guard against Mordor, Minas Anor, Tower of the Setting Sun, and Minas Ithil, Tower of the Rising Moon.  But as the spirit of the City waned, the Nameless One put forth his strength and sent a fell captain to take Minas Ithil.  When the outpost came under the power of Mordor, the name was changed to Minas Morgul, Tower of Sorcery.  Dark shadows now rule in that accursed place.  It is dangerous to all who approach." 

 

Frodo felt a pain shoot through his shoulder, pressed his hand to it.  "The Black Riders?" he asked faintly. 

 

"Yes, I have seen them, black shapes on horses.  They led an assault on Osgiliath this past summer, and our garrison was driven back.  They are dreadful." 

 

Faramir looked pale, Frodo thought.  "I know," Frodo said.

 

Faramir reached out to Frodo as he swayed in his chair, slipping an arm around his shoulders to steady him.

 

"How do you know?" Faramir asked.

 

Frodo shut his eyes, leaned back against the warm strength of Faramir’s arm.  "The Black Riders came to the Shire," he said faintly.  "They pursued us into the Wild.  Finally, they attacked.  Aragorn saved us, but..."

 

"I had not realized that was how you were wounded," Faramir said.  "That you had faced so fell an Enemy.  When a company of Men faced him at Osgiliath, only four of us survived, throwing down the bridge behind us and swimming.  That you survived such an attack is amazing."

 

Frodo forced himself to sit up, reluctant to break away from Faramir’s touch, yet not wanting him to start acting as Gandalf and Aragorn did.  "Elrond healed me," he said.  "I have recovered."

 

Faramir looked long at Frodo as if he doubted him, but said nothing more about Frodo’s wound.  "We should not dwell long on these matters," he said.  "We must come to our journey with hope, not despair, if we are to succeed."

 

Frodo agreed with what he said but thought that Faramir’s voice revealed more despair than hope.

 

"Do you in truth feel hope?" he asked, looking up, staring directly into Faramir’s blue eyes.

 

Faramir started to speak, but hesitated, biting his lip.  "I believe we must hope," he said slowly.  "But I cannot lie to you, Frodo.  I do fear, and that fear lies close to despair.  Yet my fears are for my brother, not for the Quest."

 

"Boromir? Why?"

 

Faramir looked away, sat in silence for a moment.  Frodo waited.  Faramir had helped him.  If something was causing Faramir to despair, Frodo wished to know what it was, to try to help him. 

 

Finally, Faramir spoke.  "Please keep what I say in confidence, Frodo," he said.  "I have not told anyone why I fear for my brother."

 

"I will," Frodo promised.

 

"The reason that we came to Imladris, to Elrond’s House, was because of a dream we both had.  The dream contained a warning about Isildur’s Bane and instructions to seek for the Sword that was Broken.  We did not know until the Council met that the Bane was the Nameless Enemy’s Ring, or that Isildur’s Sword still existed.  I say ‘we’ but, in truth, our father gave this task to Boromir.  I followed him in secret until he discovered me."

 

"Why?" Frodo asked. 

 

"Because I had another dream, one that came to me every night as we debated the meaning of the first dream and decided who should take the journey.  In this dream, I saw Boromir, alone, fighting a band of orcs, larger and more fell than any I have seen before, bearing the mark of a White Hand.  He fell, pierced by many black arrows.  No one could survive such wounds."

 

Faramir looked at Frodo, eyes shining with unshed tears.  "I believe that this dream’s message was a warning that Boromir would die if he came to Imladris alone.  But I could not tell him so.  And I also fear that I will not be able to change this fate.  Having learned the truth of the first dream, I fear that what I saw will also come to pass."

 

Frodo did not know what to say, seeing the torment in Faramir’s face as he described his vision of his brother’s death.  Frodo leaned forward, reaching out to Faramir, clasping his hand.

 

Faramir squeezed Frodo’s hand, then released it, sitting back, drawing a deep breath.  "But I did not see you in any dream, Frodo, and so I do have hope that you will succeed when no other can.  My fears are only for my brother."

 

Frodo said nothing, but he was not so sure.  The Fellowship would be traveling together, and Faramir’s failure to see any of the others as Boromir fought might only mean they were already dead. 

 

Faramir stood, pushing the heavy chair back.  "We have talked more than enough," he said.  "The day draws on, and we need food.  Are you hungry, Frodo?"

 

Frodo jumped down from his chair, burying his fears.  "Of course," he said.  "Hobbits are always hungry."  He was looking forward to eating with Faramir, perhaps finding out more about his life before the dreams came to complicate it.

 

Unfortunately, as they left the library and went to Elrond’s hall, they ran into Merry and Pippin who insisted on joining them for the meal.  When they all reached the hall, Boromir joined them as well.  Since his conversation was mostly about the need to journey to Minas Tirith, and since Faramir said little in his brother’s presence, Frodo did not enjoy his first meal eaten in Faramir’s company as much as he had hoped although the food was, as always, delicious.

 

** _October-December 23, 3018_ **

In the days and weeks that followed, Frodo began to feel that he was truly recovering. Long nights of peaceful sleep, plentiful food, and pleasant company were all that a hobbit could wish for.  His body and spirit strengthened, fear and anxiety leaving him.

 

But despite his recovery, Frodo felt one lack keenly.  He wished to spend more time with Faramir.  Although he saw him every day, they were always in the company of others.  Frodo wished for time alone with him.

 

Several days after his conversation with Faramir in the library, most of the Fellowship was in the Hall of Fire listening to the singing as they did most evenings.  As it grew late, Merry and Pippin left for bed.  Aragorn and Arwen were sitting together on the bench that ran along the wall.  Boromir stood nearby, arms folded, watching them.  Legolas was with other Elves and would stay on for hours, Frodo thought.  Gimli rarely came to the Hall of Fire.  Gandalf sat close to the fire, his eyes half shut.

 

Bilbo was asleep on a stool on Frodo’s right.  Faramir sat on the floor next to Frodo on his left, leaning against one of the pillars. 

 

A fair voice began one of the songs of the Undying Lands, a song to the Valar.  Although he could not understand all the Elvish well, the beauty of the singer’s voice pierced Frodo’s heart.  Closing his eyes, he saw a green land half-hidden by a silver mist.  Although the image was not clear, his longing to see more was so great that Frodo nearly wept.

 

He felt a gentle touch on his arm and opened his eyes to see the same longing in Faramir’s.  They sat thus, Faramir’s hand on his arm, until the song ended.

 

The Hall of Fire was quiet.  "Shall we go, Frodo?"  Faramir asked in a low voice.

 

Frodo nodded.  He followed Faramir out of the Hall of Fire into the cool passages.  They walked in silence.  Frodo paid no attention to where they were going, simply following Faramir, content to be near him.

 

Eventually Faramir stopped in front of a door. "This is my room," he said.  "Would you care for a glass of wine before sleep?"

 

Frodo agreed.  Faramir opened the door.  They entered the room where silver lamps were already lit.  This room was in what Frodo suspected was an older part of Elrond’s house, one made of stone, and was in the same passage as the baths.

 

The grey stone was echoed in hangings of silver and blue, different from the gold and whites of Frodo’s room. The furnishings were few, simple but beautiful.  A bed, chest, table, chairs.  Vases of white roses sat on table and windowsill, perfuming the air.

 

Frodo thought that Faramir’s room embodied twilight, the early night when the stars so beloved by the Elves first appear.  The room was cool and peaceful, the only warm colors the lamp flames, a small fire burning in the fireplace, and Faramir’s hair, shining red gold in the light.

 

Faramir poured two goblets of wine from a jug, and they sat.  The chairs were too big for Frodo, so he sat on a soft rug in front of the fire.  Faramir joined him.  Frodo stroked the rug, marveling at the fine texture and images of flowers woven into it. 

 

They sat in silence a while, watching the flames.

 

"How are you feeling, Frodo?"  Faramir’s voice was soft.

 

Frodo looked at him, shrugged.  "I am feeling stronger," he said.  "If I think too much about the journey, I suppose I will feel fear again.  But I have been content simply to enjoy each day here.  And you?"

 

Not answering immediately, Faramir sipped wine.  "I have not had either dream since we arrived in Imladris, so am able to hope."  Faramir paused, looking at the goblet in his hands. 

 

Since he was looking down, Frodo stole the opportunity to watch him, to see how the fire painted gold streaks on his hair and his face, highlighted the breadth of his shoulders in the green tunic.  Frodo suddenly realized that Faramir no longer wore his leather breastplate and sword although Boromir appeared fully armed each day. 

 

Careless in his pleasure, Frodo was caught when Faramir suddenly looked up.  Frodo could feel himself turning red but did not look away, searching for more than the kindness he always saw in Faramir’s eyes.

 

"You are the other reason I am able to hope, Frodo."

 

"I am?"  Frodo was surprised but pleased.

 

  

  1. That gives me hope."
  



 

Frodo could say nothing.  As before, he felt that Faramir saw something in him that he did not see himself, something fine and brave.  And yet the idea that someone Frodo cared for and trusted saw him that way gave him strength.

 

Faramir set his goblet down on the floor, leaned over to recline in front of Frodo, leaning on one arm, lying on his side.  He was very close to Frodo who held his breath.  Faramir reached out, touched Frodo’s face gently.

 

"I feel more than hope when I think of you, Frodo." 

 

Slowly, Faramir leaned forward, eyes intent on Frodo’s.  Frodo met Faramir, leaning, shutting his eyes to better enjoy their first kiss.  Faramir’s lips parted slightly, the tip of his tongue darting forward.  Frodo opened his lips eagerly, tasting the sweetness of Faramir’s mouth.

 

 

Frodo ran his hand down Faramir’s throat and his eyes closed as he tilted his head back.  Frodo felt the soft beating of blood under the warm skin, a slower beat than a hobbit’s.  Growing impatient, Frodo tugged at Faramir’s tunic, wanting him closer.

 

Opening his eyes, Faramir smiled, moved closer.  His hand slid from Frodo’s face down to his chest, turning and tilting him gently back to lie against Faramir’s other arm which was behind him.  The light from lamps and flames shone around them, the room shrinking to the space they shared.  Faramir leaned down to kiss Frodo again, this kiss more intense, mouths open and tongues exploring. 

 

A loud knock jolted them apart. 

 

Faramir’s head came up, but when Frodo tried to move away, Faramir shook his head, placing his hand gently across Frodo’s mouth.  When Faramir did not move to answer the summons, Frodo relaxed. 

 

A second knock sounded, then silence.

 

After some moments of listening, Frodo reached out to pull Faramir down.  But Faramir shook his head again, frowning faintly, then gently pulled his arm out from under Frodo and sat up. 

 

"Is something wrong?" Frodo asked.  He sat up.

 

"Not wrong, exactly," Faramir said quietly, looking away from Frodo.  "But perhaps we should talk."

 

"About what?"  Frodo was confused, but if Faramir wanted to talk, he was willing.

 

"About us."

 

Frodo shifted.  The rug was soft enough but did lie on a stone floor.  "Perhaps we could sit on the bed while we talk," he suggested.

 

Faramir looking at him, smiling.  "Is that suggestion a ruse," he asked, "to undermine my good intentions?"

 

Frodo shook his head, refusing to smile back.  "If you are truly worried," he said, rising and moving across the room to climb onto the bed, "you can sit in a chair.  The floor is hard, but I find the chairs here uncomfortable.  They are not built for hobbits."  He had to jump to get up onto the bed, but then made himself comfortable against two of the large pillows and looked at Faramir who shrugged, rose, and then crossed the room to lie across the opposite end of the bed. 

 

Frodo waited to hear what Faramir had to say.  Knowing little of the customs of the Big Folk, Frodo had no idea what beliefs they might have concerning sex.  Perhaps he had offended Faramir in some way.

 

"I have come to care greatly for you in a short time," Faramir said, looking at his hands lying on the grey blue coverlet.  "I do not want to hurt you in any way."

 

Cautiously, Frodo responded, wishing Faramir would look at him.  "From the first night we talked, I have felt drawn to you as well.  I do not think you would harm me."

 

Faramir kept his eyes on his hands.  "But you cannot know me well enough to be sure," he said.  At last, he looked directly at Frodo.  "I have enjoyed casual affairs in the past, with men and women, staying together only for a short time of mutual pleasure, then parting."

 

Frodo shrugged.  "Such things happen in the Shire as well."  He left unsaid that he had not engaged in many such casual affairs.  His relationship with Sam had lasted a decade, dying a natural death that Frodo had mourned when Sam decided that he wanted a family.  Most hobbits married and enjoyed life with many children, but nobody frowned on sexual exploration between the hobbits in their tweens and even after, before marriage. 

 

Since Sam, Frodo had not been searching for any other relationship, but he would not turn away from his feelings for Faramir.

 

"Engaging in such an affair which ends, then having to travel great distances together through danger, could cause problems."  Faramir paused, then continued, slowly.  "And while I believe my feelings for you are more than casual, I am not sure I trust myself in this.  I do not want to rush blindly ahead."

 

"I will not ask you for more than you wish to give.  But you will not send me away, ignore me?"  He worried that Faramir would not wish to spend any more time together.

 

"Of course not.  Trying to ignore you would be foolhardy and painful.  I only mean that we come from such different peoples and need to learn more about each other."  Faramir smiled at him.

 

"Then may I ask a favor?"

 

"What?"

 

"Let me spend the night here, just to sleep."  Frodo saw Faramir frown.  "Truly, I am not trying to trick you.  I do not wish to be alone tonight."

 

Faramir sighed, sat up on the bed.  "Very well.  For tonight."  He stood.

 

Frodo thought he would take what he could get, but planned to try later for more than just one night.

 

Seeing Frodo start to unbutton his shirt, Faramir said, "You may stay, but do me the favor of keeping some clothing on!"

 

Frodo nodded.  It took only a few moments to slip out of his trousers and hang them over the foot of the bed.  He slid under the soft comforters and curled up on the big pillows.  Faramir took a few more minutes, having more clothes to remove, though he left his shirt on as well.  Faramir blew out the lamps and slipped into bed beside Frodo.

 

In the room lit only by firelight, Frodo curled up next to Faramir, pulling his arm over him to snuggle under.  Feeling Faramir’s stiffness, he said, "Do friends not cuddle together for warmth in your City?  Hobbits do.  I am not trying to trick you.  Do  you trust me or not?"

 

Faramir laughed, relaxing, and pulling Frodo close to lie spooned together.  "I do trust you, Frodo.  I am just not sure I trust myself.  Good night."

 

"Good night,"  Frodo said, luxuriating in the warmth and closeness.  Faramir smelled like the Shire after a rainfall, clean and sweet, and Frodo breathed deeply of his scent as he fell asleep.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir hesitated after the second knock, then left Faramir’s closed door.  He had hoped to talk to his brother in private, to persuade him to join in arguing that the Fellowship go first to Minas Tirith.  Surely Faramir realized that the best road was to Gondor, that their father would expect them to return there. 

 

Boromir did not dare think too long about what Denethor’s response to Aragorn would be.  Learning that an heir of Isildur’s line lived would be a surprise and not necessarily a pleasant one.  Especially if the Heir returned bearing Isildur’s sword, a weapon out of Gondor’s past that had struck a telling blow against the Nameless Enemy.

 

Boromir walked along the terraces slowly, thinking.  He was still not sure he accepted Aragorn’s claim although Faramir seemed to.  Boromir thought Aragorn himself seemed hesitant about his status, more comfortable as a Ranger, someone used to wandering the Wild and unused to cities. 

 

When the last King of Anarion’s line had died childless, Mardil, his steward, had saved the City.  Their house had ruled the city in the King’s name for over 900 years, nearly an age.  Boromir had not thought to see a King return.  No one had.

 

When he had first seen Aragorn, he did not see a King. 

 

And yet Boromir could not deny what he had seen this very night, standing in the Hall of Fire, watching Aragorn and Arwen as they said goodnight and parted.  In the dimness of the Hall lit only by fire, Boromir had seen a white flame flickering on Aragorn’s brow as he spoke to the Lady in Elvish and kissed her hand goodnight.  The two had seemed a vision from the past of the lost majesty of the Eldar and Edain who defeated the Nameless One in their age. 

 

Boromir could not deny Aragorn’s power despite what he had claimed at the Council:  "Gondor needs no King," he had said, scornfully, denying Aragorn.  Boromir had spoken for Gondor in the light of day.  Alone at night he now wondered whether he had spoken only for himself, whether he was jealous of Aragorn’s claim to the place and the City Boromir had always seen as his own. 

 

He remembered a long-ago conversation with his father when Boromir had realized the difference between a Ruling Steward and a King.  He had asked how many years it would take for a Steward to become a King if the true King did not return.  His father’s daunting answer had been that no time would be long enough in Gondor.  Boromir wondered if his father truly believed what he had said, long years ago.

 

Boromir looked up to see that his steps had brought him to the same place.  The place where he had first met Aragorn, who was reading a book, and thought he might become a friend.  Knowing nothing of him that first night, Boromir had been drawn to him. 

 

And amazed to see the shards of Narsil.  Amazed and frightened.  Because if Isildur’s Sword had been preserved in the North, what else had been?  Perhaps even then he had suspected the identity of the stranger who had seemed something familiar, to have the air of home, in this strange place so full of Elves.

 

And here he was again, standing in the moonlight, watching the silent statue and the Sword.  Just a broken heirloom, he assured himself, ignoring the hollowness of the words.  Just as the line of Kings was broken.  The wound the Sword had dealt him throbbed, but he could not pull himself away from the weapon.  Even in pieces, the Sword radiated a cold menace.

 

Elrond’s house was full of marvels.  Why, Boromir thought, as he stood trapped in front of the Sword, did he keep ending up here?

 

"You seem to find this broken heirloom important."

 

Boromir jumped as Aragorn moved silently out of the shadows.  Boromir had not heard him approach. 

 

"Historically important," Boromir said.

 

Aragorn moved to stand beside Boromir, looking at the Sword.

 

"The time may be approaching when it will be reforged," Aragorn said quietly.  "What will Gondor do if Isildur’s Heir returns with the reforged Sword?"

 

"You wish to be King?" Boromir demanded, hoping for a clear statement in the midst of all the Elvish ambiguities.

 

"I have never wanted that power," Aragorn said in a low voice.  "It has brought death to my family, both in war and through grief.  My father died in battle against orcs when I was two.  My mother brought me to the House of Elrond, but died young, worn by her sorrow.  I was raised in Elrond’s house and knew nothing of my line until I was twenty.  In all the years since, I have not come to Gondor to claim the Kingship." 

 

He sighed, turning to face Boromir.  "Yet forces beyond your control or mine are moving against us.  I may have little choice but to act if I do not want to see all Middle-earth descend into the evil darkness of Sauron’s will."

 

Boromir hesitated, taken off guard by the pain he heard in Aragorn’s voice.  These were not the words of an arrogant usurper.  He could no longer force the man before him into that image.  He could think of nothing to say.

 

Finally, Boromir retreated to safe ground, a question they had argued previously.  "Do you truly believe the Ring cannot be controlled?"

 

"I said so.  It cannot be controlled by anyone but Sauron.  All others it will consume eventually."

 

"So you have been taught by Elrond and Mithrandir--and I do not disdain their wisdom--but even the Wise cannot see all ends." 

 

Boromir had been thinking about this question ever since Frodo had been the one to reveal the Ring in the Council.  "That the One Ring returns from the depths of time, born by a Halfling, nearly a child, does that not show us it is no longer as powerful as it once was?  That the ages separated from the Nameless One may have weakened it?"

 

Boromir searched Aragorn’s face as well as he could in the shifting, uncertain light.  Was he frowning?  Boromir continued, urgent to speak what he had rehearsed earlier.  "Once, yes, long ago, what they say may have been true, when Isildur first cut the Ring from the Enemy’s hand.  But is it still true?  Could the Ring not be used as a weapon by a strong man, or, at the least, held safely away from his grasp to ensure our victory?  There are strong vaults under Minas Tirith, ones that could safely hold the Ring.  Frodo would be safe there as well."

 

Boromir reached out to touch Aragorn’s arm, reaching out to the man, a warrior like himself, hoping to convince him.  Boromir felt sure if the Ring went to Mordor that the Nameless One’s victory was inevitable.  The power of the black shadows that had ridden out of Minas Morgul to take back Osgiliath had been overwhelming.  If the Men of Gondor had not been able to hold against them, then what hope had a Halfling?

 

Aragorn stepped back a pace, avoiding Boromir’s touch, eyes intent.  "Do not go down that road, Boromir," he said urgently.  "I have sworn to help Frodo take the Ring to the Mountain of Fire which is the sole purpose of the Fellowship.  To think anything else is to open yourself to the evil of the Ring and to lose your honour.  You are in danger, Boromir, and must resist."

 

Boromir frowned, dropping his hand to his swordhilt.  "I have fought the armies of Mordor all my life," he said, "while you have hidden in the North far from their danger.  I need no advice from you on how best to oppose this evil." 

 

Boromir turned and left, walking away with no word of farewell, but even as he approached the door that led into the house, he hesitated, standing in the shadow, fighting his longing to return, to draw Aragorn down to sit next to him, to....talk.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The next morning when Frodo woke, he was lying on his back next to Faramir who was lying on his side, his arm and leg thrown across Frodo, holding him firmly.  Frodo smiled.  He had been worried by Faramir’s words last night.  But Faramir’s actions were sending him another message.

 

Unfortunately, Frodo felt stiff and cramped from lying too long in one position.  He tried to stretch without waking Faramir, but failed.  At his first movement, Faramir woke.

 

"Good morning," he said, and leaned over to kiss Frodo.

 

Frodo opened his lips, but Faramir kept the kiss friendly and brief, then released Frodo and rolled out of bed. 

 

"It would be best to leave separately," he said, "but would you care to meet in the hall to break our fast?"

 

Frodo started to agree, then caught himself.  "I’d like to," he said.  "But I’ve been eating with Bilbo in his room every morning.  I don’t wish to disappoint him.  He’s most alert then, and we’re able to talk."

 

"You should go to him, then.  But when the noon bell rings, could we meet for nuncheon?"

 

"Yes," Frodo said.

 

"I’ll leave first, then you can follow.  Until later, Frodo."  Faramir dressed quickly, then left the room.

 

Frodo dressed, waited a few more moments, and then left, finding nobody in the hall.  He wondered if Faramir’s people always tried to hide their relationships, or if Faramir felt that way because Frodo was a hobbit.  Pushing the question aside, he went to the baths and then to Bilbo’s room for another amazing meal.

 

Afterwards, for once, he managed to avoid Gandalf and Aragorn and their maps and books.  Instead, Frodo found Merry and Pippin and proposed a walk in the woods.  They agreed, and the three hobbits spent a pleasant morning wandering in the woods.  Frodo felt relaxed with his friends and enjoyed the luxury of not having to think about everything before he spoke, sure that they would understand him or, if not, be able to ask what he meant without anyone taking offense.

  
When they heard the noon bell, they returned.  Merry and Pippin were meeting Boromir who had offered to train them in swordfighting, so Frodo was able to eat with Faramir.  Sitting down opposite him at one of the long tables, Frodo suddenly felt shy, seeing him around other people for the first time since the morning.  He was uncertain what to say and cast around for a topic.  Before he could come up with anything, Aragorn joined them.

 

"We missed you this morning, Frodo," he said as he began to eat.  "How are you feeling?"

 

"I was walking in the woods with Merry and Pippin," Frodo said, trying not to sound defensive.  "I didn’t think I could contribute much to the discussion over what road to take to Mordor since this is my first trip outside the Shire."

 

"Perhaps not, but as the Ring-bearer, you need to know all possible roads and their hazards.  And as more of the scouts start to return, we will be adding their information to the maps and making choices based on the information."

 

"Very well, I’ll come tomorrow," Frodo said, stifling a sigh.  Aragorn had a familiar look in his eyes.  Frodo was sure that nothing he could say would serve to excuse him from what Aragorn considered to be his duty.  Willing or not, he would be dragged into the library.

 

Aragorn smiled at him, then spoke to Faramir.  "You have shared a great deal of information with us, especially concerning Ithilien and the approaches to the Mountains of Shadow," he said.  "But I do not believe you have said which road you consider best for the Fellowship to take.  Do you support Boromir’s desire to travel first to Minas Tirith?"

 

Faramir ate a few moments in silence.  "I cannot say which road I think best," he said.  "I understand Boromir’s reasons.  I also know that many in the City would be distrustful of the Fellowship because of the presence of Legolas and Gimli, even of the Halflings.  Gondor has fought alone so long against the Nameless One that many of our people have forgotten that others in Middle-earth share in this battle and have done so through the ages."

 

Frodo stopped eating in his surprise.  The Hobbits in the Shire had doubts about Outsiders, he knew.  But "Outsiders" included hobbits living outside the Shire, as well as the Big Folk, Elves and Dwarves.  Since Bilbo had traveled with the Dwarves and spoke often with Elves traveling to the Grey Havens, Frodo had not been brought up to share the other hobbits’ fears.  He had not known that the Big Folk might not trust other races!

 

"But I thought the Numenoreans fought alongside the Elves," he said. 

 

"In past ages, yes," Faramir said.  "But our ways have become sundered through time, and many now fear the magical races, speaking ill of any who associate with them."

 

Aragorn said, "Too many have such doubts.  I fear Sauron can make use of all such divisions in his fight against us.  I gather, Faramir, that you and Boromir do not share these feelings since you came to Imladris and then agreed to travel with the Fellowship."

 

Again Faramir hesitated, pushing aside his plate and filling his goblet with wine.  He did not drink, turning it slowly in his hands.  "I do not doubt the good will of Elves and Dwarves," he said, "having listened to stories from Mithrandir when I was younger.  In recent years, as he visited less often, I began to study our histories more than many do in this time of war."  Faramir paused to sip his wine. "I would like to learn more from Legolas and Gimli about their peoples.  I cannot say what Boromir thinks because we have not spoken of such matters. But I do not believe he would have joined the Fellowship if he had any doubts of the Company."

 

Frodo was not so sure, remembering Boromir’s words at the Council.  He had argued against Elrond and Gandalf’s statement that the Ring must be destroyed, against Aragorn’s word that only Sauron could control the Ring.  But looking at Faramir’s and Aragorn’s faces, Frodo decided not to say anything about Boromir. 

 

Aragorn left before Frodo finished his second dessert.  Faramir remained sitting with him while he ate.

 

"Do you have any plans for this afternoon?" Faramir asked.

 

"No," Frodo said.  "Boromir’s teaching Merry and Pippin how to fight, but I didn’t wish to join them.  And as long as nobody is going to make me study more maps, I have nothing else planned."

 

Faramir smiled at the mention of maps.  "My brother’s right to start training Merry and Pippin," he said.  "You might want to consider joining them," or, he continued, after looking at Frodo’s face, "perhaps I could work with you.  Sometimes it’s better to teach one or two than to work with a larger group."

 

Frodo nodded.  He would prefer that.  He wanted to stay as far away from Boromir as possible.

 

"But not today."  Faramir, said, standing as Frodo scraped the last bits of dessert from the empty plate.  "Come with me."

 

Frodo followed Faramir out of the hall.  His hope of going back to Faramir’s room was dashed when Faramir led him down passages to the Hall of Fire.

 

The large room was empty and seemed sad to Frodo although a fire still burned.  Frodo was surprised to see how large it was in daylight.  In the evenings, listening to the singing, lit only by the fire, the room had seemed smaller.

 

"Few people come here until evening," Faramir said, going to the back of the room where a long bench was built into the stone wall, padded with cushions. "I thought it’d be a place where we could talk without fear of being interrupted."

 

Frodo nodded.  If not as private as one of their rooms, it was certainly better than the hall where everyone ate, passages, terraces or library.  He climbed onto the bench, settling back against a cushion.

 

"I‘m interested in what you said to Aragorn," Frodo said.  "About magical races.  Do people in Gondor truly think hobbits are magical?"

 

"Little is known about Halflings in Gondor," Faramir said.  "But, yes.  Unfortunately, some of the Numenoreans turned to the worship of the Nameless Enemy in the past.  They used magic for evil.  In this age, I believe most in Gondor assume all the other races are magical. Since the Enemy’s use of magic is one of his most potent weapons, many distrust any who are associated with magic, or what is perceived to be magic.  Their distrust can even extend to the wizards although I don’t see how any can confuse what Mithrandir does and is with the Enemy’s deceits."

 

"But hobbits don’t use magic," Frodo said, determined to clear this error up.

 

"I believe you, but using magic isn’t the same as being magic.  And the differences Men can see between themselves and between the Elves, Dwarves, and Halflings--well, those differences are thought to be magic."

 

"Oh." 

 

"I don’t mistrust any of our Fellowship, but knowing that so many of my people have these fears is another reason why I...hesitated last night."

 

Frodo could not think of anything to say, feeling punished for simply being what he was. 

 

"What of your people, Frodo?  What would they think of a relationship between a Man and a Hobbit?"

 

Frodo had to admit that except for one story Bilbo considered to be more legend than fact, the story that one of the first Tooks married an Elf woman which accounted for what the hobbits considered the unbecoming wildness in that family, he knew of no hobbits in the Shire who had any relationships with Outsiders of any sort.  Perhaps in Bree where the Hobbits and Big Folk lived alongside each other, such things happened.  He sighed. 

 

"I’ve never heard of such a relationship," Frodo admitted, reluctantly.  "I don’t know.  I suspect that most would disapprove of anything that differed from how hobbits have lived in the Shire for an age."  Faramir’s question had made him realize that he was not the only one who might be punished if their relationship went any further. "But we’re neither in the Shire nor in your City," he said.  "And we’ve no way of knowing what will happen on our journey."

 

"True," Faramir said.  "Although I’m not sure that such uncertainty is sufficient reason for hope."

 

"But neither is it reason for despair," Frodo said. 

 

They sat a while longer, talking about their homes and earlier lives.  Such stories could be told without fear of hurting each other.  Frodo learned that Faramir had also lost a parent, his mother, at an young age.  And they both enjoyed reading although Frodo admitted he was rapidly becoming tired of maps.  They compared notes on the difference between growing up in a City of stone and many people and growing up in a small community in the Shire, a green, quiet place.

 

Frodo thought that Faramir’s stories showed that even though he had a brother while growing up, he had still been lonely. When Frodo had first come to live with Bilbo, he had been lonely as well.  Until he had met Sam.

 

Later that night, as Frodo climbed into bed, he felt his room was too large and cold.  For the first time, the sound of the waterfalls seemed threatening.  No birds sang.  He huddled under the covers, holding one of the big pillows close, trying to imagine it was Faramir.

* * * * * * *

The next day, as he had promised, Frodo went from breakfast with Bilbo directly to Elrond’s library to meet with Aragorn and Gandalf.  He was surprised to see Legolas and Gimli had joined them, as well as Boromir and Faramir.

 

Climbing up onto the tall chair that had been left for him, Frodo listened to the conversations, realizing that, as Boromir and Faramir had done earlier, Legolas and Gimli were helping to provide information about possible roads the Fellowship might take.

 

Legolas warned Gandalf against going through one of the Northern passes and traveling past Mirkwood.  Since the Battle of the Five Armies, Mirkwood had become evil except where Legolas’ father, King Thranduil, ruled.  Dol Guldur, where Sauron had taken shape as the Necromancer before his return to rule Mordor, was the center of that evil.

 

Gandalf and Aragorn agreed that they could not risk traveling close to Mirkwood which meant the Northern passes were closed to them.

 

Gimli was slow to speak, reluctant to disclose any information relating to the Dwarves.  Finally, he told them of his cousin Balin’s attempt, with many dwarves from the Lonely Mountain, to reclaim the lost kingdom of the Dwarves, Khazad-dum.  Gandalf had to explain to others that the Elvish name "Moria," which meant "Black Pit," was the one that most of the other peoples knew.

 

"If the Gap of Rohan is dangerous," Gimli said.  "We might go by way of Khazad-dum." 

 

"I would not chose that road," Boromir declared.  "It has an evil history."

 

Gimli frowned at him.

 

Aragorn spoke then.  "The stories are dark," he said.  "But the orcs of the Misty Mountains have dwindled since their loss in the Battle of the Five Armies.  Moria may be free, and Balin may be found there.  Such a road would be difficult but might prove safer in the long run than another which seems less threatening at the start."

 

Boromir frowned and fell silent.  Faramir asked Gimli to tell him more about the stories of Moria that were told among the Dwarves.

 

Gandalf came to sit next to Frodo.  "Aragorn told me he spoke to you yesterday," he said. 

 

Frodo looked at Gandalf and, despite the twinkle in his eyes, sighed, feeling like an errant hobbit-child called to order for not doing his chores.

 

"And to Faramir," Gandalf continued.

 

Frodo stiffened in his chair, telling himself not to look away, not to look guilty.

 

"We talked at nuncheon," he said.  Then, remembering their conversation, "Faramir’s offered to teach me swordfighting."  Frodo thought that would provide a good reason for spending time together.

 

"A very good idea," Gandalf said.  "I know Merry and Pippin have begun to train with Boromir.  You never know what might happen on a journey such as ours.  Any extra training can only be useful."

 

Frodo kept his eyes on Gandalf’s, not at all sure of what Gandalf might know or suspect.  He was used to the wizard knowing everything.  Usually Gandalf’s knowledge did not worry Frodo, but he was not at all sure what Gandalf would think of a relationship between a Man and a Hobbit.

 

"After all," Gandalf said, more soberly, looking serious, "We are walking a dangerous road.  Although five of our Fellowship are trained warriors, the hazards of the journey may force you to make your way into Mordor alone or with only a companion or two.  Everyone must be able to find the way and to defend themselves."

 

"I don’t see Pippin or Merry here," Frodo said, sulking.

 

"Ah.  In their case, I expect to bring them here only when we have agreed upon a road so that I can pound it into their heads," Gandalf said, twinkling again.  "There are limits to what even I can do."

 

Frodo tried not to smile as he pretended to look down at another in a series of maps.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo knocked softly a second time on Faramir’s door.  It was late, and he was sorry to wake Faramir, but he could not stay alone after the dream.

 

The door opened, showing a dimly-lit room and Faramir, who was still dressed.

 

"Frodo.  Is something wrong?"

 

Frodo hesitated, looking up and down the empty passage.  "Could I come in, please?" he asked.

 

"Yes."  Faramir stepped back, gestured him in.

 

Frodo stepped inside, and Faramir shut the door behind him.

 

Frodo did not move further in, shivering as he stood in front of the door. 

 

Faramir knelt by him, a warm hand on his shoulder.  "Something’s wrong.  Tell me, Frodo."

 

Frodo drew a deep breath, made himself speak.  "You told me about the second dream you had," he said.  "Seeing Boromir killed by orcs."

 

"Yes."

 

Frodo hesitated, then spoke urgently.  "In your dream, was he in the woods?  Amidst many tall trees, with leaves going gold and covering the ground, as in autumn or early winter?  With old statues nearby and ruins?" 

 

Frodo held his breath as he waited for Faramir’s answer.  The statues in his dream had reminded him of the frowning kings guarding the ruins at Weathertop where he had been wounded.

 

"Yes, but how could you know?  Surely I did not tell you in such detail, and--"  Faramir’s voice rose as he spoke, and his hand fell away from Frodo’s shoulder.

 

"I’ve just had a similar dream, one that took place in those woods," Frodo, desperate to finish, interrupted Faramir.  "It started with Boromir trying to take the Ring, saying he wanted to defend his city.  And then he chased me through the woods.  And there were orcs in the woods, where we were all trapped, having to fight or run."

 

Frodo tried to think of how to convey the horror of that dream and could not.  While he had dreamed frightening things before, he had always been aware at some level that what he was experiencing was a dream.  He had been present in this place in a way that no dream had ever made him feel.  Not only sounds and sights, but scents, created that sense of reality.

 

"And when I woke, I remembered you telling me about your dream.  Did it feel real?"

 

"In a way," Faramir said.  "I felt as if I was watching something that was happening, that I couldn’t stop.  I wasn’t there, but I knew it was real and would happen."

 

"I felt I was there, felt it happening."  Frodo shuddered, feeling Boromir’s weight again, the greedy hands on him.  "I’m sorry I bothered you so late.  I couldn’t stay alone."

 

Faramir stood.  "You’re no bother, Frodo.  I wasn’t sleeping.  Would you like to stay a while?"

 

"Yes, please."  Frodo moved into the room and sat down on the rug through the fire had died down to a glimmer of red shadowed by ashes.

 

Feeling better, calmed by Faramir’s confirmation of the dream, Frodo became aware of Faramir and the room for the first time.  Faramir’s hair and clothing were disheveled, and he looked tired. 

 

Despite how late it was, the bed was still neatly made.  One of the chairs was pulled close to the window that looked out into the forest.  On the floor, next to the chair, stood a goblet with a ceramic jug next to it.

 

Faramir saw the direction of his look, and crossed the room to pick up the jug and goblet, then came back to sit by Frodo. 

 

"Would you like wine, Frodo?"

 

"No, thank you," Frodo said. 

 

Faramir filled his goblet, set the jug down, drained the goblet, then sat looking into the fireplace.  Curious, Frodo tilted the jug toward him—empty.  When he looked up to see Faramir watching him, Frodo did not know what to say.

 

"To answer the question you’re too polite to ask," Faramir said.  "Yes, that was full earlier tonight."

 

Frodo looked away, embarrassed.

 

Faramir sighed, rubbed his forehead with one hand, the empty goblet dangling from the other.  "My apologies, Frodo.  I’m not good company tonight.  Perhaps you should leave." 

 

"No!"

 

Faramir set the goblet down, continued as if Frodo had not spoken.  "If you’re afraid to be alone, let me fetch Mithrandir or Aragorn.  They should be told of your dream and can stay with you."

 

"Faramir, stop."  Frodo rose, took the two steps necessary to stand in front of Faramir.  He put his hands on Faramir’s shoulders.  "If you think I should tell Gandalf or Aragorn, I will.  Tomorrow.  But I will not leave you.  Why were you drinking?"

 

Faramir frowned but spoke lightly.  "It’s a bad habit many Men have, Frodo.  No doubt Hobbits would never--"

 

Frodo frowned back, tightening his grip on the broad shoulders, wishing he were big enough to shake sense into Faramir.  "Hobbits drink both ale and wine," he said. "The Inn closest to my home is called the Green Dragon.  And I’ve spent enough time drinking there to recognize when a friend is drinking too deeply because of despair."

 

Faramir breathed as if he had been running for too long, closing his eyes. "Frodo, please, leave me. Even more than before, I don’t trust myself with you."

 

Despite his concern for Faramir, Frodo felt a deep surge of happiness.  If Faramir was drinking because he was unhappy with the limits he had put on their relationship, then maybe he would be willing to reconsider.

 

Taking the chance that Faramir’s actions revealed his heart more truly than his words, Frodo leaned forward and kissed Faramir.  Slowly, Faramir’s lips opened under his, and Frodo tasted wine.  Faramir’s hands ran up Frodo’s arms, but he pushed Frodo away, holding him at arm’s length.

 

"Frodo, no," he said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

 

Frodo twisted, trying to break loose.  "I trust you," he said.  "I want to be with you tonight." 

 

Faramir stared into Frodo’s eyes a moment, then pulled him close, arms tightening around him, hauling Frodo off his feet and across his lap.  Frodo flinched as the air was driven out of his lungs and gasped for breath.  Faramir’s mouth descended, hot and avid, this kiss burning, unlike the gentler ones they had shared earlier.

 

Frodo could not move, could barely breathe in Faramir’s grasp.  It felt wonderful.

 

Still holding Frodo tightly, Faramir rose to his feet and moved to the bed where he set Frodo down. 

 

As Frodo lay on his back, Faramir placed a hand on either side of him, leaning over him.  "Are you certain, Frodo?" he said.  "If you wish to leave, it must be now."

 

For answer, Frodo sank both hands into Faramir’s tunic, pulling him down.  That did not take much effort.  Faramir’s arms slid under Frodo’s back and head, and one knee slid between his legs, forcing them apart, as Faramir kissed him, deeply.  Frodo twisted against the hard knee pushing against him, feeling a wave of pleasure. It had been so long since he’d had someone to touch, to love.

 

Faramir released Frodo, to his dismay, but only long enough to pull his tunic off over his head, tossing it aside.  He undid Frodo’s shirt, lifted him enough to pull it off, then hesitated, drawing back.  Frodo stared at him, frustrated.  Not again.

 

 "The Ring, Frodo" Faramir said, reaching out his hand but not touching Frodo.  "I don’t wish to touch it, not after what I saw happen in the Council."

 

Frodo nodded his understanding, thought a moment.  He sat up, slipped the Ring off, knotted the chain carefully around a suspender loop, and pushed the ring deeply into a front pocket of his trousers.  Then he then undid the trousers, slipped them off, folded them carefully, and put them under a pillow.

 

Faramir leaned back down, ran his hands over Frodo’s body, tilting him back on the soft bed.

 

Frodo reached out in turn, excited by the breadth of shoulders and chest, the gleaming red gold hair that that grew on Faramir’s chest, more thickly on his belly, disappearing under his green leggings in a way that tempted Frodo to further exploration. 

 

But Faramir held himself just out of reach until Frodo arched against his hands, frustrated.  Then, slowly, Faramir lowered himself over Frodo, balancing his weight on his arms and against the bed, covering Frodo’s body, kissing him again.

 

Frodo ran his hands over Faramir’s shoulders and chest, around his sides as far as he could reach, then down his sides to his leggings.  The leggings were snug, but Frodo’s hands could slip underneath, and he pushed as far as he could, feeling the soft hair and skin over hard muscle, angling in until he grasped Faramir’s velvet soft member.

 

Faramir gasped, arched up and away from Frodo, to lie on his back, one arm over his face, breathing hard.  "You nearly ended this now, Frodo, which would be a poor night’s work." he said.

 

After a moment, he rolled over, lying next to Frodo.  "From what you said the other night, I thought it likely you were a virgin.  Perhaps I was wrong.  What is your age?  What customs do hobbits have?"

 

Frodo did not understand what his age had to do with it, but perhaps it was important to the Big Folk.  "Last month I had my fiftieth birthday," he said.  "Hobbits may live to be as old as 100, but rarely pass it.  Bilbo’s unusual because he carried the Ring for so long and didn’t age.  I’m not married--" Frodo definitely wanted that made clear, "--which is unusual in The Shire, but hobbits don’t marry until they wish to have families.  Many hobbits in their tweens and twenties have several affairs, some have more, some fewer." 

 

Frodo hesitated, but knew he had to answer Faramir’s concerns about his experience.  "I’ve not had many affairs but am not a virgin."  He did not wish to tell Faramir about Sam. 

 

Frodo looked anxiously at Faramir who laughed.  "I’m taught again how much it is folly to make assumptions about others.  I thought you much younger and less experienced." 

 

Frodo suddenly wondered about Faramir’s age. "What is your age?" he asked.

 

"Thirty-five.  Hobbits apparently don’t show their age as men do.  The men of Numenor are fairly long-lived though few today live much past a century except in a few noble Houses."

 

Frodo thought it would be fascinating discussing the differences between Men and Hobbits at some future time, but he was getting cold.  "Faramir?" he asked.

 

"Yes?"

 

"May we stop talking now?"

 

"Yes."  Faramir stood to wriggle out of his leggings, then lay down beside Frodo, running his hand over Frodo’s chest, down his belly, to gently enfold his member.  Frodo quivered as the warm hand enveloped him and reached out to pull Faramir closer.

 

Letting Frodo pull him forward, Faramir leaned over him, warm mouth moving down his throat to his chest, sucking first one nipple erect, then the other.  Frodo’s arms tightened around Faramir, and he moaned his pleasure as the warm tongue circled, sucked, gentle and demanding.  Faramir’s short beard rubbed against his skin, a strange feeling but exciting.  Faramir’s hand gently rubbed Frodo’s member.

 

Then lower, a trail of kisses down over his belly, and finally, tugging free of Frodo’s arms, Faramir leaned over him, and ran his tongue gently around Frodo’s erect member, opening his hand to first lick, then suck, arms pinning Frodo down.  Twisting,  Frodo cried out as his pleasure grew, climaxed, too fast, too soon, but he could not help himself. 

 

Frodo lay limp, panting, in Faramir’s arms.  Faramir pulled him closer, kissed him, whispered, "I want to be inside you, Frodo.  Can I, can we..?"

 

Frodo shuddered, frantic desire too long denied still burning within.  "Yes," he managed, longing for the warmth and hardness he felt pressing against his belly to be deep inside him.  "Please, yes."

 

"Wait a moment, don’t move,"  Faramir gently disentangled his legs and arms, leaving the bed.  Frodo closed his eyes, grasping the soft covers, trembling with need.

 

He felt Faramir return to the bed and gently turn him onto his side.  "This salve will help," Faramir said, running his hand down Frodo’s back to his cleft, slick fingers gently probing. twisting, moving gently in and out.  Frodo thrust back, but Faramir refused to hurry, sliding one arm around Frodo’s chest, continuing to work with the other inside him.  Frodo felt himself hardening again and moaned.

 

Finally, Faramir’s hand slid down to Frodo’s thigh, pushing his leg up, then returned to press him open.  Frodo felt Faramir’s member pressing against him, slowly entering, filling him.  Frodo tried to push back, to force Faramir to move more quickly, but Faramir’s hand on his hip gripped him, held him steady, as he sank into Frodo.  Faramir’s heat and strength thrilled Frodo. 

 

 

"Are you all right?" Faramir asked, not moving. 

 

"Yesplease, moveplease," Frodo begged, trying to rock against him.

 

Faramir laughed briefly, exultant, then began pumping his hips, moving in and out, one hand thrusting Frodo’s leg higher, pushing deep within, pulling nearly out, then returning, harder and harder. 

 

Faramir’s other hand slipped down Frodo’s chest to wrap around his member again, rubbing and twisting, and Frodo cried out as he came again, feeling the hot spurt against his belly, Faramir rubbing the warmth in circles.  Pushing Frodo over to lie on his belly, spreading his legs wider, Faramir pushed deeper, finally coming deep within.

 

Frodo lay sprawled, his body tingling, loose, warm, and Faramir’s arms around him.  Frodo felt Faramir’s heart beating, strong and fast, then slowing, felt his warm breath on his back.

 

"I’m sorry you had that dream," Faramir said, kissing his shoulder.  "But I cannot be sorry that the dream brought you to me tonight."

 

Frodo wiggled until Faramir rose enough to let him turn around to look at him, arms around his neck.  "I’m only worried about one thing," Frodo said.

 

"What?" Faramir asked, pulling him closer.

 

"Whether you’ll remember in the morning or whether I’ll have to convince you all over again.  Just how much wine did you drink tonight?"

 

Faramir laughed, rolled over, pulling Frodo with him so that Frodo lay on top of him, head resting on his chest.  "Hobbits do share some of Men’s bad habits, then.  Don’t worry, Frodo.  The jug was not so large.  I could never forget tonight."

 

Then, seriously, one hand on Frodo’s cheek to tilt his head up to look into his eyes.  "I love you, Frodo."

 

Frodo stared a moment, feeling tears come to his eyes.  He had not even dared to hope. 

 

"Frodo?"  Faramir sounded anxious.

 

"I love you," Frodo said leaning forward to kiss Faramir before the tears fell.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo drifted awake, smiling.  He was lying on his side, spooned against Faramir, whose arms held him close.  One leg draped over his completed the sense of being held securely, protected.  Light shone through the windows, clear and warm.  Frodo breathed deeply, remembering the events of last night.  The dream had been terrifying, but it had been almost worth suffering it to have the night end as it did. 

 

Frodo realized he was hungry, but not just for food.

 

Listening to Faramir’s even breathing behind him, Frodo wriggled back.  There was not much room between him and Faramir, but he managed to get closer, feeling Faramir’s member, hard and warm, nudge into his cleft.  Frodo thought that while there were differences, as Faramir had said, in some ways Men and Hobbits were quite similar.  Frodo was slightly sore but knew from experience that would pass.  He wriggled again though there was no room left.

 

Faramir’s arms tightened around him and a warm mouth explored Frodo’s neck and ear, tongue sliding around, up over the point, to nibble gently.

 

"And what’s this I find in my bed?" Faramir murmured. 

 

"You promised me you’d remember," Frodo accused, accompanying his words with another hitch of his hips, hearing Faramir gasp, feeling him thrust forward.

 

"I remember quite well, Frodo," one warm hand dropped to his belly, then lower to cup his member, fingers moving gently until Frodo squirmed even more happily against him.  "I just didn’t realize how great a hobbit’s appetite could be."

 

Gasping, Frodo managed to say, "You’ve seen us eat..."

 

 

Faramir turned Frodo to face him, to Frodo’s disappointment. 

 

"A moment."  Faramir sat up, the covers falling away to show Frodo his body in daylight.  Frodo tingled all over at the sight of the broad shoulders, the white skin under a dusting of red-gold hair.  Remembering last night, he reached out to run his hands up Faramir’s back, tracing the two dimples on Faramir’s lower back that Frodo was seeing for the first time.

 

Faramir turned back to Frodo, holding a small pot.  "Let’s try something.  Come..."

 

Faramir pulled Frodo over to sit across his thighs and lay back.  Holding out the open pot, Faramir said, "Rub this on me, Frodo."

 

Frodo dipped his fingers in the pot, rubbed the light green salve on his hands, catching a whiff of lavender that reminded him briefly of Sam, and leaned forward to run his slick hands up and down Faramir’s member.  He exulted, hearing the change in Faramir’s breathing, feeling the muscles tense and relax underneath him as he thrust up against Frodo’s hands.

 

Then Faramir encouraged him to rise to his knees, move forward. 

 

"Here, you can control--"

 

Frodo understood what he had in mind, and moved carefully over Faramir, reaching behind to hold his member against him, angling his hips.  Feeling Faramir slip inside him, Frodo sank down, spreading his knees wide.  Faramir, quivering beneath him, hands on his hips, thrust up.  Frodo rocked against him, felt his warmth move deep within.

 

Closing his eyes, rocking, Frodo felt the pleasure build inside him until he thought he could bear no more, his skin slick with sweat, Faramir’s hands firm on his body.  Frodo felt Faramir give one last, deep thrust, coming in hot spurts within, the additional pressure exploding within Frodo as he reached the climax of his pleasure.

 

Frodo lay against Faramir’s chest, lulled by his breathing, and wondered if they could stay in bed all day. 

 

A soft knock came at the door.  Faramir placed his hand over Frodo’s mouth, as before, and waited.  Frodo was perfectly happy to ignore whoever was knocking.

 

A second knock sounded, a little louder than the first.  Then, with dismay, Frodo heard Gandalf’s voice.

 

"Faramir?  Frodo?  I must speak with you both."

 

Frodo lifted his head, stared in dismay at Faramir, who shook his head, shrugging his shoulders.  He shifted Frodo to lie beside him, pulled the covers over both of them, then sat up, arm around Frodo.

 

"Enter," he called, not too loudly.

 

The door opened, although Frodo could have sworn Faramir had drawn the latch the night before, and Gandalf entered.

 

Faramir nodded to Gandalf, but did not speak.

 

"My apologies," Gandalf said.  "I am afraid that Bilbo became worried when you did not come for breakfast as usual, Frodo.  When he could not find you in your room, he came to me."

 

Frodo sat up, dismayed.  "How late is it?’

Gandalf smiled.  "Nearly time for the noon bell.  I told Bilbo that I had met you before breakfast and taken you to the hall to eat and then off to the library where you were working on the maps but that we would meet him for nuncheon."

 

"Oh.  Thank you."  Frodo was suddenly embarrassed, especially since it was clear that Gandalf had known exactly where to find him.  "I suppose I should go..." Frodo started to move, but Faramir held him close.

 

"Is that all you have to say, Mithrandir?"  Faramir’s voice was even, but Frodo could feel the tenseness in his arm and body.

 

"I believe so," Gandalf replied mildly.  "But if you desire more from me, I can say only that you and Frodo are both of an age where you are free to choose those whom you love.  I’ve known both of you most of your lives and trust you more than I do many."

 

Frodo relaxed, could feel Faramir doing the same behind him. 

 

Gandalf regarded them a few more minutes, then said, "If you wish to join me in the library, Frodo, we can go to Bilbo’s room together."

 

"Thank you," Frodo said.

 

Gandalf nodded, then left.

 

Faramir pulled Frodo into a long hug.  "By the Tree, I never know what to expect from Mithrandir.  But no matter how much I love him, I could’ve wished him far away this morning."

 

Frodo nodded.  "But he was here, and no matter how much I’d rather stay with you, I must leave."

 

Arms tightly wound around Frodo, Faramir kissed him deeply, then spoke, his lips moving against Frodo’s.  "I shall release you only if you promise to return tonight."

 

"I promise," gasped Frodo.

 

* * * * * * *

 

After a quick visit to the baths and then to his room for clean clothes, Frodo ran to the Library to meet Gandalf.  They walked to Bilbo’s room together.

 

Bilbo welcomed them in, to a table groaning with food, and was happy to have Gandalf join them.  Mostly, Frodo thought, so that he could scold him for making Frodo work so hard.

 

Frodo enjoyed the first part of nuncheon immensely.  Not only was the food wonderful, but Bilbo was probably the only person in Middle-earth who could talk to Gandalf as if he were a young hobbit caught stealing mushrooms.

 

Unfortunately for his appetite, halfway through the meal Frodo remembered that he needed to talk to Gandalf about his dream.  The problem was that the only reason the dream seemed so important was because of Faramir’s dream. Which Frodo had promised to keep secret.  He had to talk to Faramir first.

 

After the meal, they left Bilbo to take a short nap.

 

As they walked down the passage, Gandalf told Frodo that they needed to go to the library.  Frodo was saved by Elrond who caught them just outside the door and asked Gandalf to come hear the reports of the scouts who had gone toward the Misty Mountains.

 

Frodo escaped with relief, but was caught by Merry and Pippin.

 

"Come along, Cousin," Merry said.  "We need to talk."

 

Frodo accompanied them, wondering at Merry’s seriousness.  They walked with him along terraces, found a sheltered porch that faced East, overlooking the valley below, with a bench.  They sat down with him, one on either side.

 

"So tell us everything," Pippin said, poking him.

 

"What do you mean?"  Frodo was confused.

 

"We know you’re hiding something.  Bilbo came to us first this morning in quite a state before he went to Gandalf.  I think he feared the Black Riders had somehow gotten in and taken you away," Merry said.

 

Pippin continued.  "And we know you weren’t in the library because we checked.  There’s only one explanation.  And we want to know.  Whose bed were you in?"

 

Frodo said, "Nobody’s. I was up early and in the library most of the time.  You must have missed me, that’s all."

 

Merry said, "I bet it’s Legolas.  You’re always running after Elves."

 

"No!"

 

Pippin snickered.  "Maybe it’s Elrond!" 

 

"Maybe both. There are so many elves here!  Who could choose?"

 

Pippin leaned around Frodo to look at Merry.  "Of course, we could both be mistaken.  Maybe cousin Frodo has decided to try it with a Dwarf!"

 

Merry rubbed his chin and nodded.  "Ah, good point.  A definite possibility." 

 

Frodo stood up, ready to leave.  "You’re mistaken," he told them, trying to sound severe, and started down the path back to the house.

 

He thought he was going to get away until somebody tackled him from behind, rolling with him off the path onto the grass. 

 

"Help me," Pippin said, holding Frodo down.  "There’s only one way to make him talk!"

 

Pippin started tickling Frodo as Merry held his arms.  Since Pippin knew all of his ticklish spots, this had always worked in the past.  Frodo twisted, laughing, trying to break Merry’s hold.  But suddenly, Pippin’s hand, sliding under Frodo’s shirt, touched the Ring.

 

Snarling, Frodo kicked Pippin and threw Merry off, rolled to his feet, and backed away, clutching the Ring.  Before his eyes, his friends twisted, seeming to turn into slavering orcs, clawing at him.  "Get away," he warned. They wanted his precious.  He must protect it.

 

"Frodo!" 

 

Frodo blinked, hearing familiar voices.  A mist seemed to pass from his eyes, and he saw Merry standing in front of him, and Pippin on the ground, moaning.

 

"Frodo, it’s me, Merry.  What’s wrong?"

 

Frodo collapsed, falling to his knees, huddled in on himself.  "I’m sorry," he gasped.  "I thought...the Ring....stealing."

 

"I’m going for Gandalf," Merry said.  "Pippin, stand up, can you stay with him?"

 

"No," Frodo cried, sitting up.  "No, please, Merry.  I’m better, truly." 

 

Slowly, Merry came forward, took Frodo’s arm to help him up.  Pippin, still breathing hard and rubbing his belly, joined them on the bench, this time sitting next to Merry, not Frodo.

 

Frodo shut his eyes.  His only thought was gratitude that Faramir had somehow foreseen this problem.  Frodo shuddered, thinking what might have happened last night had Faramir touched the Ring. 

 

He opened his eyes, looked at Merry and Pippin.  "My apologies.  When Pippin touched the Ring, I suddenly felt he was going to steal it.  It won’t happen again.  I promise.  But you must not touch it, even by chance."

 

Merry, looking unwontedly serious, spoke.  "I understand, Frodo.  But I think you need to talk to Gandalf about what happened." 

 

Pippin nodded.

 

Frodo did not want Gandalf to think he was ill and needed more nursing, so did not want to tell him about his response to someone touching the Ring.  There was no solution to that problem in any case, Frodo thought, other than destroying the Ring.  But he did want to talk to Gandalf about the dream, if he could get Faramir’s permission to reveal his dream as well.

 

"I’ll talk to him tomorrow morning, I promise," he told Merry.  Frodo was careful not to promise exactly what they would talk about.

 

That night, after eating daymeal with Bilbo, Frodo left the hall but he did not go to the Hall of Fire.  He went straight to Faramir’s room and knocked on the door.

 

The door opened on the room in which one lamp shone.  Faramir closed the door, knelt and held out his arms.  Frodo walked into his strong embrace.

 

* * * * * * *

 

When Frodo woke, he was in the same position he’d fallen asleep in the night before, lying on Faramir’s chest, head on his shoulder.  Under him, Faramir slept, one arm above his head, one arm warm across Frodo’s back.  Frodo could tell by the position of the light on the floor that it was earlier than yesterday.  He needed to meet Bilbo for breakfast.  To miss a second day in a row would cause a fuss no story by Gandalf would cover. 

 

"Faramir," he said softly.

 

"Ummmm," Faramir said, his hand sliding down Frodo’s back to his rear.

 

"I must leave."

 

Faramir opened his eyes.  "Truly?" he said, his other hand joining the first, squeezing gently, thumbs slipping into Frodo’s cleft.

 

Frodo quivered, closing his eyes.  "Breakfast.  Bilbo," he said.

 

"Oh."  Faramir’s hands fell away, leaving Frodo both relieved and disappointed.

 

"But I first wished to ask your advice," Frodo said, remembering that he had promised Merry he would talk to Gandalf today.  "The other night, you said that I should tell Gandalf or Aragorn about my dream."

 

"I remember."

 

"I will if you think I should, but....what about your dream?"

 

Frodo felt Faramir tense under him, saw him frown.

 

"I won’t break my word to you," Frodo said quickly.  "It’s just that the dreams seem to be connected.  And mine only casts doubt upon Boromir’s honour."

 

"I see."  Faramir was silent.  "I’ll go with you to speak to Mithrandir," he said.  "He can best advise us."

 

Frodo  relaxed, happy he would not have to break his word to anyone.  Silence fell, and he could hear the morning birds singing.

 

"Frodo?"

 

"Hmmm?"  Frodo’s eyes had shut.  He was very comfortable.

 

"We’ll have to leave the bed if you wish to have breakfast and speak to Mithrandir."

 

* * * * * * *

 

Faramir and Frodo sat across the table from Gandalf, chairs drawn close enough for them to touch.  Faramir had spoken first, after asking Gandalf to keep his words in confidence, then Frodo.

 

Gandalf sat in silence after they finished telling him both dreams.  It was late morning, and they were in the library.  Boromir had left to train Merry and Pippin, and Aragorn had gone to speak to Elrond about the scouts’ reports.  Frodo looked around the quiet library when he had finished, thinking of how all the ranks of books and maps could inform but not advise them.

 

Gandalf looked at them, his eyes keen.  "I share your sense that these dreams are troubling," he said.  "Yet I do not believe that we should share anything with the others.  Remember, the Ring is a danger to all of us--not just Boromir--and we must keep that in mind.  Frodo’s dream, at least, could even be an attempt by the Ring to sow discord in our Company."

 

"But mine could not," Faramir said.

 

"Perhaps.  But you do not wish your dream to be shared with others.  And I do not say we should ignore the dreams.  Keep them in mind as a warning.  And be wary.  Neither of you could recognize the place in the dreams, and we will be often traveling under the shadow of trees on our journey.  The danger of prophecy is that that we may turn aside from our path because of it and thus make the prophecy come true."

 

Gandalf left them to meet with Aragorn and Elrond.

 

"Do you wish to study some more maps, Frodo?" Faramir asked.  "I believe that there are several more cases in the back containing ones you’ve not had a chance to see."

 

Frodo shuddered.  "Is it not time for nuncheon?  Surely I heard the noon bell?"

 

Faramir tousled his hair.  "Perhaps.  Yet we’ve talked about training in swordplay for you.  It’s better to train on an empty stomach than one too full.  Shall we start today?"

 

Maps or training seemed to be his only choices.  Frodo was not sure which would be worse.  He chose the sword training because it was different.  He went to his room to get Sting and met Faramir outside.

 

Several hours later, he limped to the baths.  He washed and sat a while in the hottest water before returning to his room.  He did not think he could sit down to eat.  Once back in his room, he pulled the chair over to use to climb carefully onto his bed, collapsing on the soft pillows and falling asleep within a breath, not even stripping off his clothes.

 

 

"Enter," he called, glad that he had left the latch up earlier.

 

The door swung open to show Faramir carrying a tray loaded with dishes.  "When I did not see you at daymeal, I was worried, Frodo." he said, entering the room.  "Are you well?"

 

"No," Frodo said.  "I’m not.  I don’t think I can move." 

 

"I feared you would be suffering," Faramir said, setting the tray and a flask down on the table beside Frodo’s bed.  "You must do the exercises I taught you every day, and that will soon pass."

 

"Or I could just spend all my time in the library," Frodo suggested hopefully.  Nobody made him do exercises to study maps.  He had not realized just how much cause he had to be grateful to Gandalf and Aragorn.

 

Faramir lit two lamps and came back to the bed.  "Are you hungry?"

 

"I don’t know.  I’m in so much pain I cannot tell."  Frodo was aware he sounded sulky but did not care.

 

"Sit up."  Faramir helped him sit up against a mound of soft pillows, then set the tray on his lap. 

 

Despite his sore muscles, Frodo could not help but be interested in the contents of the tray.  Exploring, he found a big bowl of mushroom soup, a loaf of hot bread golden with melted butter, and three helpings of his favorite dessert.  He had never had such a dessert in the Shire.  The dark brown, incredibly sweet pastry, layered with heavy, sweet cream, made him think it might be worth living after all.

 

He began to eat, starting with one of the desserts.  Faramir lounged on the bed next to him, watching.  Frodo soon found the tray in front of him empty.

 

Faramir picked it up, moved it to the table.  "Did you go to the baths as I suggested?" he asked.

 

"Yes, not that it helped."  Frodo snuggled back into the pillows and frowned at Faramir.

 

Faramir laughed.  "Oh, but it did.  You’d be in much worse shape if you’d failed to do so.  And the exercises and daily training--"

 

"Daily?"  Frodo was aghast.

 

"Yes, daily, will help you prepare for the journey.  Merry and Pippin train with Boromir every day.  He says they’ve greatly improved."

 

Frodo did not care.  He scrunched down further into the pillows and closed his eyes.

 

"There’s something else that will help," Faramir said.

 

Frodo thought his voice barely managed to hide laughter.

 

"What?" he asked, opening his eyes.

 

"A massage.  If you’ll allow me, I think I can help."

 

Frodo looked suspiciously at him, but his face looked quite serious.

 

"Very well."

 

Faramir rose from the bed, fetched the flask from the table.  "You must undress," he said.

 

Frodo, groaning, slipped his shirt off, removed the Ring, looped it securely and pushed it down in his pocket, then took off his pants.  He folded the shirt and pants together and pushed them deep under his pillow. 

 

Faramir pulled back the covers and helped Frodo to lie down, face resting on his folded arms.

 

Frodo gasped as warm liquid puddled on his back.  Faramir’s hands, slick and warm, began rubbing, moving up to Frodo’s neck, then out to his shoulders and arms.  After a while, his hands began to move up and down Frodo’s spine, kneading the sore muscles.  Frodo gasped as the skillful hands moved across his shoulders and back, putting deep pressure on the sore spots, massaging the knots out, rubbing the pain away, replacing it with a tingling warmth. 

 

Slowly, Faramir worked his way back up Frodo’s back, then down, then moved to his upper thighs and legs, also sore and stiff.  Up and down, more pressure on the up strokes, then circling back down.  Back up, more gently this time, up and down his spine, rubbing, caressing. 

 

Frodo stretched, sighing, realizing that the soreness was gone, and he no longer felt stiff.  The warm hands continued stroking him, more on his lower back and rear, circling around his hips, sweeping under his body.  Frodo realized he was becoming stiff somewhere else.

 

"Was this a ruse," he said, turning his head, "to undermine my ill humour?"

 

"But if you’re too weary, I’ll leave you, Frodo."

 

Frodo turned, rising on one arm, reaching out to grasp Faramir’s arm and pull his hand back, pressing it against his body.  "I’m no longer weary," he said firmly.  "Although I think I’d like to avoid too much exertion tonight."

 

Faramir leaned forward to kiss him, hand moving wickedly against Frodo.  "I think I can arrange that," he said softly.  "Give me a moment."

 

Frodo released him and lay back down on the bed.  He heard the clink of dishes, the sounds of the door closing and the latch being drawn, the rustle of clothing being removed.  Then the lamps were extinguished, the room falling into darkness.

 

Faramir returned to the bed.  His hands moved up and down Frodo’s back again, sliding down to his rear, parting his legs, slick fingers gently pushing into Frodo. 

 

Frodo felt Faramir’s weight tilt the bed as he braced himself above Frodo.  Gently, he entered Frodo, then pulled him over to lie on his side against Faramir whose arms held and braced Frodo so that he was penetrated, enveloped, but with no weight or pressure on his back and legs. 

 

Frodo gasped and thrust back, excited, but Faramir held him still, thrust harder.  Frodo’s head fell back against Faramir’s shoulder, and Frodo moved to the rhythm of Faramir’s movements, pleasure spiraling, building, slowly, inexorably, until they cried out together.

 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir and Aragorn were in the armoury.  Aragorn was sitting on a bench, sharpening Merry’s sword, and Boromir was across the room at a worktable, cleaning his own.

 

"We should train the hobbits to clean and sharpen their own weapons," Boromir said idly, pausing in his work, watching Aragorn’s hands as they stroked the whetstone up and down the blade, the silver ring gleaming in the lamplight.

 

"There is yet time," Aragorn said.  "They have a great deal to learn in the short time we are in Rivendell.  Caring for their weapons does not add to our duties."

 

"My father’s swordsmaster always made us do all the work ourselves," Boromir said.  "He said only the lazy or the incompetent trust others to take care of the weapon that may save your life."

 

Aragorn smiled up at him, white teeth glinting against his short beard.  "So did Glorfindel who trained those of us in Elrond’s house for a time," he said.  "I can still see the expression on his face when I put a practice sword away without cleaning it.  I was in disgrace for days."

 

"Then why not--"

 

Aragorn interrupted him, placing Merry’s sword back in its sheath, starting to work on Pippin’s.  "Boromir, for how long a time did you train?"

 

"I suppose, in total, about seven years." 

 

"We have a month, maybe a little more, to work with the hobbits.  Time enough when we are on the road to do more.  I would rather they be able to defend themselves than to clean and sharpen a sword properly.  They come from a peaceful place."

 

"What and where is their home?"   Boromir finished his blade, sheathed it.  He crossed the room to take down one of the swords that hung on the wall behind Aragorn.  Pulling the weapon out of its sheath, he admired its beauty and sharp deadliness.  He wondered how the slight curve at the tip affected the balance of the weapon.  He had not yet seen any of the Elves fight, but the weapons stored here implied they would be as skilled in that art as in the music he had heard in the Hall of Fire.

 

"The Shire.  Far to the North and West.  A rich land where they have lived for much of this age.  Much of their time is spent in the growing of food, and the eating of it.  They have no King, no army, fight in no wars. None of these hobbits have ever had to fight.  Two months ago, they would never have dreamed of doing what they have already done.  Be patient, Boromir.  I believe the hobbits will surprise you."

 

"They already have," Boromir said, sheathing the sword and returning it to its place, then coming to sit next to Aragorn.  "For them to have held the Ring for so long and resisted its evil as Bilbo and Frodo have done surprises me.  We know little of Halflings in my City, but that, I hope, will change."

 

Aragorn continued working on Pippin’s sword, not answering.  Boromir sat on the bench, aware of the movement of Aragorn’s arms as he sharpened the small blade.  The Halflings were not the only ones who surprised him.  As he and Aragorn sat like this, tending weapons, with no discussion of the Kingship or what they should do with the Ring, he found himself more and more drawn to him. 

 

Yet he could not set aside the memory of evenings spent watching Aragorn and Arwen in the Hall of Fire, seeing them together speaking in Elvish, could not forget the vision of Aragorn as a crowned King.  Boromir had gathered from chance words the condition Elrond had set for marrying his daughter, that only the King of both Gondor and Arnor could ask her to forsake her Elven immortality.  That through this loss to the Eldar, the Kingship would be restored.  Reflecting on Arwen’s twilight beauty, Boromir could not understand why Aragorn had not already claimed the Kingship.  Why did he hesitate?  What did he wish for?

 

Boromir stood, moved quickly across the armoury, to pick up his sword and attach it to his belt. If he had not moved, he was suddenly afraid that he would have reached out to Aragorn, pushed the hobbit’s sword aside, and pulled him close. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Despite his doubts, Frodo had to admit, if only to himself, that Faramir was right.  After his mornings in the library with Gandalf and Aragorn, Frodo did his exercises every day and trained with Faramir before a late nuncheon.  The exercises involved stretching into and holding certain positions for a time. 

 

He became more limber, able to move more easily into the positions and to learn the movements for swordfighting.  His stamina seemed to improve and, as an added benefit, he realized that extra flexibility helped with the other activities he and Faramir engaged in.

 

Eventually, Aragorn worked with Boromir and Faramir to create group training sessions for the hobbits on some days.  Aragorn wished them to learn to fight together since they would be facing larger opponents if they had to fight.  During these sessions, despite his fears and the dream, Frodo came to see the good in Boromir as he watched him with Merry and Pippin, laughing and joking.  On alternate days, Frodo continued to train alone with Faramir.

 

Reports were coming in from the scouts.  All the lands seemed empty with no sign of the Black Riders.  Aragorn rode out with Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s sons, to scout possible paths the Fellowship  might take.  Boromir quit talking about going to Minas Tirith.  And every night, Frodo and Faramir were together in Faramir’s room.  Frodo was afraid that Merry or Pippin would find them in his room.

 

* * * * * * *

 

During one of the group training sessions, Frodo was sitting under a large tree in a clearing outside Elrond’s house.  Aragorn always made him take more rest breaks than Merry and Pippin, and, in this case, he did not try to resist.  Especially when they were all training together, he could use all the rest breaks he could get.  Merry and Pippin tended to try to gang up on him at least once during every practice even when they were supposed to be fighting together against the Men.

 

Faramir was working with Merry and Pippin on the other side of the clearing.  Aragorn, recently returned from his scouting trip, was watching closely.

 

"Move your feet," he told Pippin.

 

As he watched Faramir, Frodo was coming to understand how the sword training had to be adapted for Hobbits, allowing for the difference in sizes and proportions.  Aragorn, Boromir, and Faramir were creating new ways of training and fighting which could not be easy.

 

Boromir sat down on the ground next to Frodo and wiped his forehead.  "You are doing well, Frodo," Boromir said.

 

"Thank you," Frodo said, looking up at him.  Since they had begun working together, he had lost some of his fear of Boromir.  He had tried to put the memory of  his dream away, telling himself that there was no certainty it would come true.  But Frodo still felt a little shy around him.

 

Boromir picked up a jug of water, upended it, drinking thirstily, letting the water spill down over his face and throat, putting the jug down, wiping water away.  He offered it to Frodo who took it, thanked him, and drank.  He set the jug down between them.

 

"Yet you seem much stronger in the defensive moves," Boromir continued, turning to look at Frodo directly.  "From what I have seen when I watch you work, you are not comfortable attacking."

  
Frodo nodded, aware that Boromir was right.

 

Boromir leaned forward, shifting to sit closer to Frodo.  "My brother suffered from the same weakness when he was learning," he said.  "It was hard to train him out of it.  Perhaps you and I should work together for a while.  And he could help Merry and Pippin with their defensive moves." 

 

 

"Come with me, Frodo," Boromir urged, "and we can get started."  Boromir stood, leaned down to grasp Frodo’s arm and pull him to his feet.  Frodo tried to pull away.

 

"Boromir." 

 

Frodo gasped in relief as Aragorn’s voice caused Boromir to release his arm, turning as quickly as one of Queen Beruthial’s cats. 

 

"I think Frodo has worked enough for today."  Aragorn’s voice was even, he was smiling faintly, but he walked forward, forcing Boromir to fall back, until Aragorn stood between Boromir and Frodo.

 

Boromir’s hand fell on his swordhilt.  

 

Aragorn stood with arms crossed.

 

"You may be right," Boromir finally acknowledged.  "But his weakness should be remedied."

 

"I will work with him myself," Aragorn said.  "Later.  Now, I think we should return.  We are through for the day, and the hobbits are hungry for their daymeal."

 

Merry and Pippin loudly seconded Aragorn and followed him out, arguing happily over who was best.  Boromir frowned at Frodo, but followed the others out.  Faramir came over to walk with Frodo.  As Faramir pointed out a plant he did not recognize, Frodo realized that Faramir had not heard what Boromir said.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir loomed over him, angry at being denied.  "They will find you.  They will take the Ring.  And you will beg for death before the end."  His pleasant face was distorted, his voice harsh. 

 

Frodo turned to run, tripped, felt Boromir’s hands on his legs, pulling Frodo toward him.  Boromir’s heavy body pinned Frodo, his hands fumbling under his shirt, groping for the Ring.

"Frodo!"  Hands grasped his shoulders, shaking him.  "Wake up."

 

"No, no, no, you cannot have it," Frodo cried, his arms flailing, one hand striking the grimacing face that was so close he could feel the hot breath on his cheeks.

 

Suddenly, Frodo woke completely, finding himself fighting a sheet wrapped around his legs, seeing Faramir sitting over him, hand to his face.

 

"Faramir," Frodo cried.  "I thought you were Boromir...it was the dream!"

 

Faramir dropped his hand, shook his head, pushed back the hair that had fallen over his face.  "I know, Frodo.  I was trying to wake you.  Are you all right?"

 

"Are you?"  Frodo tried to sit up, tried to see then touch Faramir’s face.  It was hard to see in the faint moonlight.

 

Faramir held him, deftly unwound him from the sheets, and pulled him into a hug, sitting back against the pillows.  "I might have a bruise in the morning, but that is nothing unusual after training," he said.

 

Frodo relaxed in Faramir’s arms, feeling his breathing return to normal, the sweat cooling on his skin.  He’d had no chance to talk to Faramir since the encounter with Boromir.

 

They had gone into the daymeal in a group, then on to the Hall of Fire.  When Frodo and Faramir had gone to bed, they’d fallen asleep almost instantly.  Daily training did leave one exhausted at times.  Now Frodo wondered if he should even mention it. But the timing seemed so strange. 

 

"Did you hear what Boromir said to me today at practice?" Frodo asked.

 

"No.  I saw him speak to you but couldn’t hear what was said."

 

"He told me I was stronger in my defensive moves, that he should work with me on attacks."  Frodo paused, then went on  nervously.  "He said you had the same problem when you were learning."

 

Faramir said, "I did.  Boromir worked with me after our regular training sessions with the swordmaster.  I’m still not as strong as he in some offensive moves, but I know I improved greatly under him."

 

"I don’t want to have to train with Boromir," Frodo said.  "I’m afraid."  Frodo held his breath, fearing that he would make Faramir angry.  "I think that may be why I had the dream again."

 

Faramir rubbed Frodo’s back.  "I understand," he said.  "I know my brother is honourable, but the dream makes you wary.  You don’t need to train with him.  I’m sure Aragorn would be willing to help."

 

Frodo relaxed.  "He said something like that to Boromir," he admitted.

 

"Then you need not worry," Faramir said.  "Can you sleep?"

 

Frodo looked at him in the moonlight.  "I could," he said slowly. 

 

Faramir’s hand was cupping his rear, and Frodo was not all that sleepy.  He ran his hand down Faramir’s chest, over his belly, smiling as he felt the hardness under the sheet.  "But not at the moment."

 

"Good."  Faramir bent to kiss him.

 

Frodo put his arms around Faramir’s neck, holding him close. 

 

Faramir slid Frodo down to lie on his back, rolled over him, pulling his legs apart and up, sliding one hand under and into Frodo, opening him, as he continued to kiss him.  Frodo wrapped his legs around his thighs, tilting his hips up, eager to feel Faramir deep inside.  As the now familiar movements began, Frodo shut his eyes, thanking the Valar or whoever had sent the dream to Faramir.

 

** _December 24, 3018_ **

All too soon the day Aragorn and Gandalf had selected for their departure was nearly upon Frodo.  Gandalf had stopped the training sessions two days earlier, instructing the hobbits to spend the time eating well and resting before the journey began.  Pippin and Merry had no trouble following those instructions.  Frodo, however, found it more difficult. 

 

The day before their departure, Frodo went to have breakfast with Bilbo as always but found he could not eat.  A large stone seemed to have lodged in his stomach.  He was able to pretend well enough that Bilbo, busy telling Frodo to keep careful notes of the journey for the book Bilbo would write when they returned, did not realize he was the only one eating.  Then Frodo went to his room to pack. 

 

After packing, Frodo went to nuncheon where he forced down a few bites.  He wandered around afterwards, spending time with Merry and Pippin who had left their packing until the last moment.  After they were done, the hobbits took their packs down to the stable.  There, in the morning, they would be loaded onto Bill the Pony who was accompanying the Fellowship despite Gandalf’s advice.  Aragorn had insisted on taking him, not wanting to burden the hobbits with heavy packs.

 

Frodo had not seen Faramir since they woke together that morning.  Nor had he seen Aragorn, Gandalf, or Boromir.  When Frodo returned to his room, he found the emptiness disturbing.  He finally went to the library.

 

There he found Faramir, Aragorn, and Gandalf in consultation with Elrond, rolling the maps they had made and packing them in round leather cases.  As far as Frodo could tell from what they said, Aragorn’s road was the one they would be following.  To Caradhras, over the Redhorn Gate and down into Dimrill Dale. 

 

Aragorn left with Gandalf and Elrond to speak to Elladan and Elrohir who had gone on a long scouting trip and only now returned.  Finally, Faramir and Frodo were alone in the library. 

 

Frodo looked up to see Faramir looking at him and tried to smile.  It was getting harder and harder to pretend to be brave, and the Ring was weighing heavily on him.  It hung, hot and heavy, around his neck.

 

"Frodo, would you do me a favor?" Faramir asked.

 

"Yes."

 

"Go to my room and wait for me.  I may be a while, but will you stay until I arrive?"

 

"Yes, but what about daymeal?"  Frodo didn’t think he’d be able to eat any more than he had earlier, but he did not wish Faramir to know that.

 

"There will be time." Faramir rose, as did Frodo.

 

"Very well." 

 

 

After an uncounted time, during which Frodo realized that he would probably throw up if he tried to eat, he heard the door open.  He turned to see Faramir at the door, carrying a laden tray.

 

"I thought it might be more pleasant to eat here tonight," Faramir said, balancing the tray on one arm as he swung the door shut behind him and drew the latch. 

 

Frodo tried to smile.  It would harder to disguise his lack of appetite here than in the crowded hall, but he was pleased at Faramir’s thought and would rather be with him than with all the others.  There would be little chance for such companionship on the road.

 

Faramir crossed the room to set the tray down and sit in front of the fire.  Frodo joined him, sitting cross-legged.

 

As he sat, the rich smells from the tray surrounded him.  Frodo swallowed hard, saliva flooding his mouth.  He turned away, nauseated.

 

  

  1. You were kind to think of it, but…"
  



 

"Frodo, here, take this."  Faramir held out a small goblet to him.  "I thought you might need something to help you eat, and Mithrandir gave me this.  It is &lt;i&gt;miruvor&lt;/i&gt;, a cordial Elrond makes.  Drink it."

 

Frodo took the goblet hesitantly.  Looking into it, he could see a small amount of liquid that seemed to have no color but smelled like flowers.  He swallowed the fragrant cordial, feeling new strength and vigour course through him.  Suddenly, he felt as hungry as a hobbit should be after a day of fasting, and turned eagerly to the tray.

 

Faramir, who had finished first, smiled at him.

 

"Is it enough," he asked, "or should I return to the kitchens for more?"

 

Frodo smiled happily back.  "Enough, for now," he said.  "How did you know I could not eat?"

 

Faramir pushed the tray aside, and reclined next to Frodo, leaning on one arm, his hand on Frodo’s chest.  "Because I remember the morning before my first battle," he said.  "I was so scared and so busy trying not to show my fright that I couldn’t eat.  Trying to march and fight that day on an empty stomach taught me firsthand what all old campaigners know—that one must take every chance at food and drink offered.  I asked Boromir to make sure Merry and Pippin ate and slept as well. We’ll be leaving very early tomorrow morning though Aragorn tells me that we’ll travel only by night when we leave Elrond’s land."

 

"I don’t think that Boromir’s task was necessary," Frodo said, surprising himself with the bitterness he felt and heard as he spoke. 

 

"Perhaps not.  But in case they’re simply better at hiding their feelings from me, I thought it best to make sure.  You carry the Ring, Frodo, you cannot help but know more than any of us what is at stake and how dangerous it is.  Do not blame yourself for what you feel."

 

Frodo relaxed again.  He did not understand how Faramir could always make him feel better

 

Faramir’s hand crept up to Frodo’s cheek, turning his head toward Faramir.  Frodo smiled as he saw the desire in his eyes.

 

"You said we had to rise early tomorrow," Frodo said.  "Does that mean we should go to bed early?"

 

"No doubt," Faramir murmured, bending to kiss Frodo, his hair falling forward, tickling Frodo’s face.  Frodo raised his arms, sinking his hands in Faramir’s hair, holding his head still for a prolonged kiss that left them both short of breath.

 

"But not necessarily to sleep," Frodo said, when he could speak again.

 

Faramir did not reply.  He rose to his feet, picked up the tray and moved it to the table, then returned to kneel beside Frodo and pick him up. 

 

Moving across the room, Faramir drew the covers down and set Frodo on the bed, sitting on the other end as Frodo drew the Ring off over his head, looped the chain securely, and put it in his front trouser pocket.  Then Frodo pulled off his trousers and shirt, rolling them up and putting them under his pillow.  Faramir moved closer to kiss him, then stood to blow out the lamps. 

 

"Wait," Frodo said as he moved across the room.  "Could you leave them?"

 

Faramir looked back over his shoulder at Frodo, smiling.  "If you wish," he said.  "Although I suspect I’ll have to be the one who gets out of a warm bed later on."

 

Frodo wiggled back to sit against the pillows.  "I’ll make it worth your while," he promised.

 

Faramir turned to face Frodo and pulled off his tunic, tossing it onto the chair by the window.  His white shirt was loose and full.  He bent slightly, raising first one leg and then the other, to pull his boots off.  He set them by the wall near the chair.  Then, slowly, he pulled off his leggings, tossing them on top of his tunic. 

 

He turned and came back to the bed wearing his shirt which came halfway down his thighs.

 

"Your shirt," Frodo said.

 

"Oh, I thought I’d sleep in it tonight," Faramir said solemnly, stretching out next to Frodo.  "Just to remind me of my good intentions."

 

Frodo glanced at him, then said, "Perhaps I should put mine back on then.  For the same reason."

 

Faramir slid one hand behind Frodo’s neck and pulled him closer for a kiss.  Gently brushing his lips over Frodo’s, he said, "I thought you wanted the lamps lit so you could spend tonight studying maps…I would hate to interfere with such dedi--," he gasped as Frodo’s hand slid under his shirt to grasp his member firmly.  "Ah.  I gather not."

 

Faramir rolled over to lie on his back,  "Well, Frodo, you’d best take my shirt off then, since you don’t seem inclined for study."

 

Frodo straddled Faramir’s legs and began pushing the shirt up in front, slowly, rolling it under his hands.  As he gathered the shirt, he moved up Faramir’s body, enjoying the sensation of soft hair and smooth skin against his palms and inner thighs.  He carefully moved around and over Faramir’s erection, keeping his eyes locked on Faramir’s.  When he had the shirt high on Faramir’s chest, he had to stop, tugging at it to pull it from under his weight.  Understanding Faramir arched up slightly, and Frodo pulled the shirt free. 

 

"Raise your arms," Frodo said.

 

Faramir did, and Frodo leaned over to tug the shirt up and over his head, pulling it off his arms.  To do so, he had to lean quite a ways over, and, as soon as Faramir’s arms were free of the shirt, he slid them around Frodo, pulling him further down.  He gently sucked on Frodo’s nipple, then kissed his way to the other.  Frodo braced his hands, pushed up against Faramir’s arms. 

 

"Let me," he said.  "Lie still."

 

Faramir released him, let his arms fall back.

 

Frodo sat up, tightening his legs around Faramir’s body, running his hands through Faramir’s hair, pushing it back from his face.  Frodo leaned down to kiss him, slowly, deeply.  Tilting his head back a little, Frodo kissed his way down Faramir’s throat, lingering at the base, feeling the warm pulse of his heart’s blood under his lips.  Down his chest, gently licking then sucking the nipples erect. 

 

Faramir’s eyes closed, and Frodo felt him tense, thrust up under Frodo.  Frodo moved down, keeping his legs locked around Faramir’s body, his hands pressing down on him.  Frodo trailed his tongue down Faramir’s belly, rose and shifted further down, licked and nibbled his way down almost to his erection. 

 

Frodo moved off Faramir who moaned.  .  Frodo slid his hands between Faramir’s thighs, pushing outwards, then slipping between Faramir’s legs when he opened them.

 

Kneeling, Frodo leaned over, rubbing his face against Faramir’s belly, nuzzling down to lick his member, from base to tip, up and down, savoring the softness and saltiness.  Hands on Faramir’s thighs, he could feel the dampness on his skin. 

 

"Frodo, please.."

 

Rising, Frodo took as much of Faramir’s member into his mouth as he could, sucking, swirling his tongue over the tip.  Faramir’s legs tightened around his, and his hips bucked up.  Frodo sucked harder, then released him. 

 

Frodo moved up, positioning himself, reaching behind to hold Faramir.  His eyes opened, and he said, "Frodo, the salve.."

 

Frodo did not want to wait and thought he was more than ready.  He began to sink down, and felt Faramir slip inside him.  Frodo arched back, pressing down.  Faramir grasped him around his hips but did not thrust up.  Frodo spread his thighs wide, sank further down, and began rocking against Faramir, shutting his own eyes.

 

As the pleasure within grew, spiraled, climaxed, Frodo rose up, sank down again, the more intense sensation growing inside.  His body tightened, spasming.

 

Under him, Faramir grasped him harder, pulled him down, thrusting up against him, crying out as he came.

 

Frodo lay happily on Faramir’s chest, eyes closed, body warm and tingling.  He felt Faramir’s hand on his head.

 

"I truly hate to say it," Faramir murmured.  "But I must blow out the lamps."

 

Frodo tightened his arms and legs around Faramir.  "You may do so," he said, "but I’m not moving."

 

"Hmmm."

 

After a moment, Faramir managed to shift himself across the bed, swing his legs over the side, and push himself up into a sitting position, one arm going around Frodo to hold him.  When he sat up, Frodo could wrap his arms and legs more fully around Faramir and did so.

 

Cautiously, Faramir stood and moved across the room to blow out the lamps.  Then returned to the bed and maneuvered himself back onto it, finally lying back with a sigh and pulling the covers up over them.

 

Frodo relaxed his grip slightly.  "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

 

"Perhaps not," Faramir said, a hint of laughter in his tone.  He ran a hand down Frodo’s back.  Frodo wiggled happily against him.  "However, I suspect it will not be easy to travel in this fashion."

 

"I’m sure you’ll think of something.  And no doubt, with the right exercises, it will become easier over time."

 

"No doubt.  Good night, love."

 

Frodo kissed Faramir’s shoulder.  "Good night."

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir walked along the terraces in the moonlight.  He had made sure that Merry and Pippin ate, not a difficult task, and then ordered them off to bed.  He knew he should go himself, but somehow during the walk from the hall to his room, his footsteps had taken him outside.

 

As he turned the corner and entered the shadow cast by the wall, he saw two figures standing close together, one dark, the other clad in white and seeming to glow even in the moonlight.  Arwen and Aragorn.  They were standing next to the statue that guarded the Sword, facing each other.  Aragorn’s head was bent, Arwen’s raised. 

 

Boromir hesitated, knowing he should retreat, but unable to move. 

 

The sound of the falling waters drowned out some of their words, but he strained to hear what he could.

 

"…….Mortal…"

 

She took his hands.

 

"….Cannot give…"

 

"Mine…..to whom I……heart."

 

After a moment, they kissed, their bodies flowing together.  Boromir stepped back a pace, shutting his eyes in vain.  The image glowed inside his head, causing his breath to quicken.  He felt himself harden, clenched his hands on his swordbelt until they ached, demanding control.  He would not feel this.  They had nothing to do with him.  He had nothing to do with them.

 

When he had forced his breath and body to calm, Boromir opened his eyes.  Arwen was gone.  He was surprised to see Aragorn still standing in front of the statue, so still he seemed almost its companion cast in shadow and moonlight. 

 

Boromir stood a few moments more, watching.  He knew he should leave, but he could no more turn his back on Aragorn than he could stop his breathing.  Boromir walked quietly forward.

 

 

"I have told Merry and Pippin to go to bed," Boromir said, struggling for a casual tone.  "You should be sleeping as well."

 

Aragorn nodded,  "As should you," he replied.  A moment of silence, then, "I have just spoken to Elrond.  He told me he could foresee little of our road and how our task might be achieved.  The Shadow that darkens the land darkens his foresight as well."

 

Boromir hesitated, reluctant to speak against the Elven lord who had raised Aragorn,  the Elven lord who was the father of Arwen.  "In Gondor, we are not able to rely upon such powers," he said slowly.  "And I am not sure that is to our disadvantage.  The riddles of prophecy might cause a man to hesitate, to lose his grasp on what he must do."

 

Aragorn smiled sideways at him.  "Yet you made a journey of 400 leagues," he said, "on the strength of a Voice in a dream.  A prophecy.  Or a riddle?"

 

"Elves and Wizards believe," Boromir began, but Aragorn interrupted.

 

"You travel with an Elf and a Wizard, remember."

 

"Truly, and we are part of the same Fellowship," Boromir said, "which I will honour and defend to my death.  Yet their beliefs are different than those of Men.  I hope you will learn to trust the ways of Gondor as well as theirs since you of that line."  This phrasing was as close as Boromir could come to acknowledging Aragorn’s claim.  Tonight of all nights, he did not want to argue with him, and it seemed that too many of their conversations became arguments.

 

"But I am of the North as well," said Aragorn.  "And if I were to rise above the height of all my fathers, I would not only join the sundered Kingdoms but would work to bring the People of the Wood and the Mountain back into friendship with Gondor."  He paused, then, "But that lies far in the future, if at comes all." 

 

Aragorn turned away from the Sword to face Boromir.  "Elrond has received the last of his scouts’ reports, from Elladan and Elrohir."

 

"And what is their news?"

 

"Elrond sent his people out North and West, East and South.  Some traveled far down the Greyflood, others crossed the Mountains into Mirkwood, and still others the pass at the source of the Gladden River.  Elladan and Elrohir passed down the Silverlode—I was with them for the start of that journey—and have just returned.  In all those regions, no sign of the Black Riders nor any other servant of the Enemy has been discovered.

 

"That is good news," said Boromir, encouraged by the reality of the reports from the Elves.  He had observed them enough to see they were excellent warriors and woodsmen and preferred to focus on those more familiar skills rather than their unnatural powers.

 

"True," said Aragorn, "Yet I do not trust it.  When I journeyed through Hollin, where I have been many times before, I was struck by the absence of the creatures I have seen there in the past.  There was a sense of watchfulness, of fear, that I never felt before.  I could see nothing to account for it, but I cannot dismiss it.  I would prefer enemies who can be seen."

 

Boromir heard, more clearly than before, the thread of weariness in Aragorn’s voice.  Of all the Fellowship, Aragorn had had the least rest during their time in Rivendell.  For the first time, Boromir acknowledged his feeling of empathy for the one leading the Company. 

 

If Boromir were not to lead the Fellowship, as he had first thought he would, then he must do his best to support the chosen leader.  It had been years since Boromir had served a man other than his father, but he suddenly realized that he would choose to serve this man even if offered the chance to lead.

 

Grasping Aragorn’s arm gently, he said, "You must rest now.  You’ve done all you can to prepare for the journey.  To start without sleep can only weaken you, and the rest of us.  Come."

  
He tugged gently at Aragorn’s arm, and Aragorn suffered him to lead him back into Elrond’s house.

 

* * * * * * *

** _ January 13-14, 3018_ **

 

Frodo followed Gandalf into the room at the top of a long flight of stairs, careful to keep behind him as Gandalf called more light from his staff.  Pippin and Merry tried to press forward, but Aragorn restrained them. 

 

"I think we can safely sleep here," Gandalf said.  "At least more safely than on the open stairs.  But build no fire, and keep quiet.  And stay out of the center of the room.  Look!"  he pointed at the large hole surrounded by broken chains and stone.  "A well.  But the cover has rotted.  Take care."

 

Frodo moved aside as the rest of the Fellowship crowded into the room.  He was glad to be away from the open stair and the currents of air that chilled him as they climbed.  He wanted rest, and not to be forever imagining soft footsteps following him in the dark.  And to be warm.  He stood shivering inside the door as the others made as comfortable a spot as they could with blankets and cloaks in one corner of the room.

 

When Pippin called him over to eat, Frodo sat next to him and ate what he could of the cold food.  But it was hard to force down.

 

Faramir came to sit and eat but paused beside Frodo, knelt, and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

 

"Frodo," he said, "You’re shaking.  And soaked."

 

 

"I’m all right," he said.  "I can wrap up and go to sleep.  My clothes will dry."

 

"No," Faramir said.  "You must change.  Mithrandir, help me."

 

Gandalf came over, felt Frodo’s head and back.  "I agree, Faramir.  Frodo, get into some dry clothing, and wrap up.  I hadn’t realized you got drenched earlier.  I don’t want the cold of the Mines to make you ill."

 

Frodo did not wish to reveal the mithril shirt Bilbo had given him to the others and did not see how he could change without doing so.

 

"Faramir, Aragorn, and Boromir fought in the water," Frodo pointed out.  "You’re not ordering them to change."  To prove his point, he laid his hand on Faramir’s leg, feeling the dampness of his leggings.

 

"They are trained and used to fighting, marching, and surviving in even worse conditions," Gandalf aimed one of his most ferocious frowns at Frodo.

 

"I’m sure I’ll be fine."  Frodo was shivering and uncomfortable but resisted being treated like a child. 

 

Faramir interrupted the argument, saying, "I will change as well--come, Frodo."  Faramir went to the corner of the room where the packs were piled.

 

Gandalf stopped frowning, and said.  "Excellent.  And I think we all could use some &lt;i&gt;miruvor&lt;/i&gt;.  Elrond gave me a flask for our journey.  Here, Frodo, you first."

 

Frodo took the flask and sipped the fragrant liquor.  As before, the mouthful sent a wave of warmth and strength through his body.  He capped the leather flask and handed it back to Gandalf.

 

Gandalf said, "Since we dare not build a fire, I suggest that bundling together and sharing blankets might be the best way to sleep warmly while we are in the Mines.  I will keep watch for tonight.  The rest of you need uninterrupted sleep after that horror at the Gate."

 

He smiled at Frodo, then went to give the others a sip of &lt;i&gt;miruvor&lt;/i&gt;.

 

Frodo looked after him, his mouth open.  What had Gandalf just done?  He looked over at Faramir who was standing by their packs.  Faramir shrugged, then smiled wryly and turned to pull out dry clothing.  Frodo stood and crossed the room to join him, ignoring Merry and Pippin’s discussion about who got to drink the cordial first.

 

Faramir had draped their dry clothes over a pack and stood a little back to allow Frodo to change first.  Frodo turned his back to the others.  Quickly, he slipped off his coat, vest, and trousers, but not his shirt, and pulled dry trousers on.

 

"Frodo, your shirt," Faramir said in a low voice, laying his hand on Frodo’s back.  Frodo stiffened in dismay, and Faramir pulled his hand back. 

 

"What is it?"

 

Frodo glanced around, seeing that the others were talking or eating, paying no attention to him or Faramir.  "A mail shirt," Frodo whispered.  "Bilbo gave it to me.  He thought I should wear it secretly."

 

"A good idea.  Here."  Faramir pulled off his tunic and stood behind Frodo, shielding him from most of the others.  "But you must have a dry shirt.  Hurry."

 

Frodo looked around, checking to make sure nobody could see him, pulled off his shirt, and tugged on the dry one, then donned the vest and coat. 

 

  

  1. Faramir then began cleaning and sharpening his sword.
  



 

They had not been together since Rivendell.  Frodo was afraid of Boromir’s response.  Yet even if his fear had not been strong, the long night marches, meagre food, and constant cold meant that all Frodo had energy to do when they stopped for a rest at dawn was to eat, then roll up in his blanket and cloak and fall into exhausted sleep. 

 

Faramir took turns with the other Men, Legolas and Gimli standing guard.  None of them would allow the hobbits to stand guard, but even so, Frodo had to drag himself from the hard ground when called for daymeal.  He could hardly believe he and the others had complained about the tree roots keeping them from sleeping on their first night after leaving Bag End. He now felt he could have slept on a bed of rocks, especially if they were warm.

 

But now Gandalf had given them the chance to at least sleep together this night. 

 

Frodo shivered but not from the cold.

 

The others were settling down in various corners of the room.  Gandalf was sitting near the door, the light from his staff dimmed enough to let them sleep but enough to hold back the endless dark of Moria.  Legolas and Gimli both claimed not to feel the cold, and Legolas joined Gandalf near the door to the stairs since Elves did not sleep as Men and Hobbits did.  Gimli took his blanket and rolled up in it to sleep in another corner.  Deep snores soon resounded through the room. 

 

Merry and Pippin, claiming Gandalf’s blanket as well as their own, since, as Merry pointed out, he intended to watch the whole night, snuggled in together, laughing. 

 

Despite Gandalf’s words, Frodo noticed that both Aragorn and Boromir had taken the chance to change into dry clothes.  They were sitting next to each other in the same corner to tend to their swords.

 

"You heard what Mithrandir said," Faramir said, smiling at Frodo. "Lie down here." 

 

Frodo saw that Faramir had put one of the blankets on the floor and held the other one.  He had spread their wet clothing and cloaks over the floor and packs to dry as much as possible overnight.  His sword was leaning against the wall, close to hand. 

 

Faramir gestured for Frodo to lie down on the blanket, then lay down behind him.  Faramir slid one arm under Frodo’s head and pulled him close him, lying spooned together, his other arm over Frodo. 

 

Frodo began to feel warm for the first time since they had left Rivendell.  He drifted off to sleep more easily than he’d expected, held in Faramir’s arms, his last sight Gandalf sitting in a pool of dim light, facing the door, his head wreathed in smoke. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir sat next to Aragorn, keeping his eyes firmly on his own blade as he worked.  The fight at the Doors of Moria had been brief, but he had enjoyed it.  To have a clear enemy to attack felt good after the months of debates and travel.  He wished they could have avoided entering Moria.  To leave the clean air and daylight of Middle-earth for this black hole in the ground galled him.  He was not at all sure he trusted Mithrandir to guide them safely through.

 

But so far he seemed to know what he was doing, and it would be good to get a full night’s sleep.  Finishing, Boromir sheathed his sword and leaned it against the wall close at hand.  He watched the others settling down for the night.

 

Sharing blankets certainly made sense.  He had done it himself on more than one campaign.  Too conscious of Aragorn’s warmth at his side, the scent of his drying hair, Boromir thought of what else might be shared between men fighting together, aware that the next day could bring their deaths or celebrating having survived that day’s battle, the body urgent to prove to itself it lived. 

 

Boromir could not tell if he hoped or feared the prospect of what he was imagining.

 

Trying to distract himself, he looked around the room.  Legolas and Gandalf were talking in low voices, both facing the door.  The light was dim, but most of the rest of the Fellowship seemed to be sleeping.  Faramir….Boromir stiffened as he saw Faramir wrapped around Frodo.  Two people might sleep side by side for warmth, but Boromir was convinced that what he now saw for the first time showed more than fellowship. 

 

Boromir stood, picking up his blanket and moved down the wall to sleep.  He was a little closer to Faramir and Frodo sleeping as he settled himself.  He watched for a while, long enough to see Frodo turn in Faramir’s arms, burrow into his chest, and murmur something.

 

Boromir shut his eyes, fighting to keep his anger down, telling himself it was anger at Faramir’s recklessness and nothing more.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo woke slowly but kept his eyes closed, luxuriating in being warm and feeling Faramir breathing underneath him. 

 

When Frodo finally opened his eyes to a room well-lit by the light from Gandalf’s staff, he found himself looking at a large pair of boots.  Looking upward, he saw a chain mail shirt, the red of an undertunic, and, finally, Boromir’s face.  Boromir was frowning down at them, his arms crossed.

 

Frodo realized that during the night he and Faramir had shifted into one of their favorite sleeping positions.  Frodo was now lying on top of Faramir, head on his shoulder, draped over his chest and belly, with Faramir’s arm around him.  Frodo tensed, fearful. 

 

Faramir woke, immediately alert as always.  "Brother," he greeted Boromir.

 

Boromir said nothing.

 

Frodo rolled off Faramir and stood aside as Faramir tossed the blankets aside and stood, forcing Boromir to fall back a pace.  Faramir shifted, standing between Boromir and Frodo. 

 

For a moment, nobody spoke.  Frodo watched the two brothers stare at each other, so alike and yet so different, and wondered what would happen to the Fellowship if they fought. 

 

"Time to eat." Boromir turned and joined the others.

 

Frodo saw Faramir relax.  Faramir turned and began to roll up their blankets.  Frodo looked at him, but Faramir shook his head and stowed the blankets away. 

 

Looking across the room, Frodo saw Merry and Pippin watching them, so interested in what was happening that their mouths hung open and they were holding uneaten food.  Merry elbowed Pippin, tilting his head toward Boromir who was talking to Aragorn. 

 

Frodo turned away and began to fold his damp clothes to pack.  He suspected that more of the Fellowship than Gandalf was now aware of his relationship with Faramir. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Gandalf was sitting in front of three doors that branched out from the passage they were in, trying to decide which door would be the best way.  The rest of the Company was taking the opportunity to rest and, in some cases, to enjoy a pipe.

 

Frodo was sitting alone, at the lowest point of the stairs, where the light from Gandalf’s staff would not affect his vision, gazing back down the long way they had climbed, trying to discern if anything moved in the darkness.  Since they had entered Moria, he had realized he could see in the dark better than his companions, except for Gandalf and Legolas, and he could hear more as well.  All his senses seemed heightened since he had been wounded at Weathertop and healed in Rivendell.

 

And he was sure that he had been hearing soft footfalls pattering behind them since they began climbing.

 

Pippin and Merry appeared, dropping down to sit on the stairs, one on either side of him.  They were both smoking, and Merry held out his tobacco bag in invitation.  Frodo shook his head.  He no longer found smoking  pipeweed pleasant, and although he regretted the loss of a companionable smoke with friends, the harsh scent and taste sickened him.

 

They sat in silence a moment, then Pippin elbowed him in the ribs.

 

"So now we know," he said.

 

"What?" Frodo asked, dragging his eyes away from the stairs. 

 

"Whose bed you were in back in Rivendell," Merry said from the other side.  "Unless you’ve been bed hopping, and I don’t think that’s likely.  Pippin, yes.  You, no."

 

"Not at all likely," Pippin said.  "I’ve been trying to get him to hop around with me for years with no luck."

 

Frodo wondered if there was any use denying it.  He opened his mouth to speak, but--

 

"Don’t try to deny it, Frodo," Merry said.  "Not after this morning."

 

"Yes, we noticed you looked much warmer," Pippin said.

 

"And happier."

 

"Faramir too." 

 

"Not Boromir," Merry said, laughing.

 

Frodo sighed.  He knew Merry and Pippin were only teasing him.  He just hoped that Boromir wasn’t able to hear them from where he was sitting, further up the stairs, next to Aragorn.

 

"All right," he said quietly.  "It’s true.  Keep your voices down, please."

 

Pippin looked ostentatiously over his shoulder, then wiggled closer to Frodo and whispered loudly in his ear.  "You saw Boromir this morning.  He obviously knows."

 

"Yes, Pippin," Frodo said quietly. "I know he knows.  But I don’t want him to hear us talking."

 

Merry leaned forward, spoke in a low voice as well.  "All right, but you have to talk."

 

"About what?" 

 

"About him," Pippin poked Frodo again.  "One of the Big Folk.  I can’t believe it.  How could you?"

 

  

  1. "What do you mean?"
  



 

Pippin sputtered a moment.  "He’s, isn’t he, how do, well, he’s one of the Big Folk, isn’t he?  Just how big is he?  Doesn’t it hurt?  What do you do?  What can you do?"

 

Frodo almost laughed aloud in relief.  He should have known better. 

 

Merry sighed.  "Pippin, I told you not to say that.  The Big Folk aren’t any bigger than the Elves, and…"

 

"How do you know?"  Pippin said.  "The Elves are taller than Men, right enough, but that doesn’t mean their prumph..."

 

Frodo had clapped his hand across Pippin’s mouth.  Carelessly, he’d been speaking in a normal tone, and Frodo knew that sound would travel up the stairs.  "Stop it," he hissed.  "Quiet." 

 

Pippin licked the palm of his hand, and Frodo pulled away, wiping it on his cloak.

 

"If you want me to talk, you’re going to have to be quiet," he pointed out.

 

"Yes, Pippin," Merry said, then gestured at Frodo to start.

 

Frodo had thought Merry and Pippin would figure things out eventually and had even tried to plan what he would say.  But somehow that had all gone out of his mind.  He decided just to start.  "We started talking in Rivendell," he said, but was interrupted.

 

"But when did you start—OUCH," Pippin said as Merry leaned over and reached in front of Frodo and poked him in the chest, hard.

 

"In Rivendell," Frodo said patiently.  "He’s different from anyone I’ve ever know, but somehow we seem to be alike in many ways."  Seeing Pippin frown, he continued.  "Yes, Pippin, he’s larger than a hobbit, but…" Frodo hesitated, then went on, "the difference in length is greater than the difference in girth."

 

"Like our swords," Pippin snickered.

 

Merry looked interested but did not speak.

 

Frodo shook his head, exasperated.  "And he and I do the same sort of things I’ve done with Sam.  It just takes some practice and care."

 

Frodo stopped there.  He’d never enjoyed talking about the details of his relationships with other hobbits which, again, had set him apart from his friends.  Pippin especially seemed to have more fun talking about sex, either before or after, than he did having it.

 

"THAT sounds interesting," Pippin said.  "Maybe I need to see what this is all about.  I don’t suppose.."

 

"No," Frodo said firmly.  "Not with Faramir."

 

Pippin pouted.  "You’d never share Sam either.  Very selfish of you, Frodo.  Well, that leaves me two choices.  Boromir or Aragorn.  Hmmm…."

 

Merry frowned.  "What makes you think they’d even be interested in you?"

 

He stiffened, interrupted the argument.

 

"I have to talk to Gandalf," he said.  Ignoring them, he rose to his feet and climbed up to tell Gandalf that he had just seen someone following them.  And that he didn’t think it was an orc.  He was afraid that he knew who it must be.


	2. From Rivendell to Rauros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Universe. Draws on book chronology. This fic assumes a reader has some knowledge of book and film; and while I am not specifically quoting, I am not resisting memories of phrases and terminology which may be woven in (although in different characters' mouths).

** _January 14-15, 3018_ **

 

Gandalf risked a little real light, the flare from his staff showing huge pillars, ornately carved, extending far into the distance.  "Behold the great realm and city of the Dwarrowdelf."

 

Silence fell as the Fellowship gazed at the mighty work of the Dwarves.

 

Gandalf said, "I now know where we are, but we need sleep before the final part of our journey.  We will need to find a way down tomorrow.  If all goes well, we will be out of Moria well before nightfall."

 

Boromir was glad when Pippin and Merry finally left him to prepare the daymeal.  While Boromir had enjoyed working and traveling with the two young hobbits, it was unusual for them to spend the entire day at his side.  He was glad to see they seemed to be in a good mood, laughing together, as they talked to Frodo, but Boromir wished to talk to Faramir in private.  Here, in this immense cavern, they should be able to speak without being overheard.

 

Boromir walked over to Faramir, noticing that his brother sat where he could see Frodo. 

 

"May we talk?" Boromir asked quietly.

 

Faramir said nothing, his eyes grave on Boromir’s face, but nodded.  He stood and walked apart with Boromir, following him down the hall of pillars until they were well outside the light cast by Gandalf’s staff, standing close to each other in the shadowed hall.

 

"Do not deny what I saw this morning," Boromir said. 

 

"I could say you are reading too much into two friends sleeping together for warmth," Faramir replied.  "But I do not choose to deny that Frodo and I are lovers."

 

"How could you," Boromir nearly shouted, held himself back.  The echoes in the hall were tricky, could carry sound oddly.

 

"How dare you question whom I chose to love?"

 

Faramir’s voice was low but conveyed his anger, Boromir thought.  He wished they had sufficient light for him to see his brother’s face clearly. 

 

"I…you…," Boromir was frustrated.  It was so clearly wrong, and yet Faramir did not seem to see it. 

 

"If we do not endanger the Fellowship or Frodo’s quest," Faramir said.

 

"You do endanger us all," Boromir interrupted him.  "The Ring…"

 

"I care nothing for the Ring," Faramir said.  "Only for Frodo.  And our behavior is no concern of yours, as yours is no concern of mine."

 

"Me?"  Boromir did not understand how he had become the subject.

 

"What you and Aragorn do," Faramir said.

 

Boromir grabbed for Faramir’s shoulders, intending to shake him into silence.  Faramir blocked his move sharply, striking his arms aside with sharp blows on the inside of his wrists.  Even through his vambraces,  Boromir could feel the blows and thought there would be bruises later. 

 

Faramir stepped back.  "I will not fight with you, _brother_," he said.  "We will not discuss this again."  He turned and walked back to the light.

 

Boromir rubbed his wrists.  Despite his anger, he had to admire Faramir’s speed and response, effective even in the dark.  But then, Boromir thought, Faramir had always been strongest in defense of others.

 

Slowly, Boromir followed his brother back to the light.  Pippin and Merry called him over to eat, and he smiled at them as he joined them.  They, at least, offered him no problems whatsoever.  He ignored their whispers when Faramir and Frodo finished their daymeal and, taking their blankets, curled up to sleep together again. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo woke suddenly.  He’d heard, or maybe he’d dreamed he’d heard, the padding of soft footsteps behind him, turned to see the glow of eyes approaching, heard the hissing of breath over sharp teeth. 

 

But as he raised himself on one arm to look around, he could hear and see nothing beyond the Fellowship sleeping amongst the huge pillars in a corner of the hall. 

 

Frodo could see Gandalf standing on guard, the dim light of his staff lighting the bases of the immense pillars which surrounded them like trees in some unimaginable forest of stone.

 

Frodo felt better than he had in days.  Moria had not proven to be as dangerous as he had feared, and he’d been able to sleep warmly and deeply with Faramir.  His dream had awakened him, but he did not feel tired.

 

He lay back down, resting his head on Faramir’s arm, wriggling closer to Faramir who woke at his movement.  "Frodo?" he said quietly.  "Are you all right?  Is it the dream?"

 

"I’m fine.  No dream," Frodo said.  He wasn’t really lying, he assured himself.  He hadn’t had the dream Faramir was asking about. 

 

Frodo turned, facing Faramir, ran his hands down Faramir’s chest, exulting at his quick response when Frodo’s hands slid below his waist.  Faramir reached down with his free hand to capture one of Frodo’s and gently pulled it up to his mouth, kissing it.  "What are you doing?" he asked.

 

"What do you think," Frodo whispered back, trying to slide one of his feet between Faramir’s legs as he slid his hand between his thighs.

 

Faramir stiffened, his breath catching, then pulled his arm out from under Frodo’s head to grasp his roving hand, rolled Frodo onto his back, holding both hands above his head, moving to pin Frodo down.  His tongue, then his breath, was warm in Frodo’s ear.

 

"I should have asked ‘why,’ love," he said.  "Or even ‘how.’  Is this truly the place or time?"

 

Frodo wriggled happily, thrusting up against Faramir, turning his head to nuzzle Faramir’s cheek, nibble his earlobe.  Frodo wanted a kiss, and, finally, Faramir claimed his mouth, the deep kiss burning down Frodo’s back.  He moaned softly into Faramir’s mouth.  It had been so long.

 

Faramir pulled back briefly.  He shifted to hold both Frodo’s wrists in one hand, then placed the other gently over Frodo’s mouth.  "Not here and now," he started.

 

"Why not here and now," Frodo spoke against Faramir’s palm.  "Everybody knows, I’m sure, so…."

 

"Everybody?"  Faramir slid his hand away from Frodo’s mouth, down to his cheek, entwined his fingers in Frodo’s hair.

 

"Merry and Pippin know, so, yes, I think everybody does.  Unless," Frodo hesitated.  "They might be a little afraid to tell Aragorn, but otherwise…Boromir talked to you about us, didn’t he?"  He hadn’t missed Boromir taking Faramir off into the hall earlier, or that the two had come back separately, both looking angry.

 

He felt rather than heard Faramir sigh.  "Yes, he did."  Faramir said nothing further, and Frodo did not ask.  He was sure he knew what Boromir’s response was in any case. 

 

Frodo tried to kiss Faramir, but could not quite reach him, held down as he was.

 

"Why not," he repeated.  "Everybody knows."

 

Silence, then "All right," Faramir breathed, fingers tracing Frodo’s lips.  Frodo kissed the fingers when they halted.  "But quietly, please.  There’s a great difference between everybody knowing, and everybody watching."

 

Frodo nodded.  Perhaps it was the time since Rivendell, perhaps the need for quiet in the long dark of Moria with its looming sense of danger, or perhaps simply Faramir’s body pressing against his, but Frodo was so hard he was almost in pain.

 

"Please, quickly," he said.

 

Faramir shifted his weight off him, to Frodo’s disappointment, and turned him gently to his side, holding him in one arm, lying spooned around him.  His other hand pushed Frodo’s trousers down partway, and wrapped, warm and calloused, around Frodo’s member.  Frodo gasped, arching his back, and Faramir covered his mouth as he began rubbing softly, gentle strokes up and down. 

 

Frustrated, Frodo nipped Faramir’s palm, hard.  Faramir laughed softly, but increased the pressure, stroking harder, twisting his hand at the tip, moving back down and squeezing.  Frodo’s hips bucked and he spilled into Faramir’s hand, trembling but still not satisfied.

 

 

Faramir pulled his hand out, and Frodo could feel him trying to pull down his leggings.  Since Frodo would not release his other arm, it took a frustrating while, but he finally achieved it.  Faramir held Frodo by the hip, positioned himself, and pushed slowly in.  Frodo bit Faramir’s palm harder, trying not to cry out in his pleasure. 

 

Frodo was braced and held by Faramir’s arms as he moved in and out, slow and powerful, then, faster, pushing Frodo towards another climax.  Frodo convulsed, his body clenching, releasing, tasting blood as Faramir came hot and deep within.

 

Frodo floated, his body loose and warm, listening to Faramir breathe.  A few moments passed, and Faramir moved, pulling his leggings up, tugging Frodo’s trousers up, fumbling with the buttons.  Frodo smiled as he thought that Faramir’d had no trouble getting them unbuttoned.  Then he remembered, and grasped Faramir’s hand, running his fingers over the palm where he felt stickiness and several small wounds.

 

"Faramir," he said.  "My apologies!"

 

A small breath of laughter behind him, and Faramir said, "The lore of Gondor has been increased by the knowledge that Halflings, truly called hobbits, can bite!"

 

Frodo remorsefully kissed the wounded hand.

 

Faramir hugged him.  "Frodo, no, it’s nothing more than a scratch, truly.  And I didn’t even feel you do it."

 

Frodo released his hand, reassured, and turned to kiss Faramir.  Rolling on his back, Faramir pulled Frodo over onto him, and they settled themselves to sleep for whatever remained of the night.

 

 

Not far away, lying in the dark, Boromir stared dry eyed into the black depths.  He was tormented not only by the soft sounds he’d heard but by the soft breathing of Aragorn who lay sleeping just beyond Boromir’s reach.

 

* * * * * *

 

 "Fly, you fools," Gandalf gasped, and was gone.

 

"No," Frodo cried, seeing the wizard he’d loved since he was a child, the one he trusted to guide him to Mordor and back, disappear into the abyss that the Bridge of Khazad-dum spanned.  Frodo tried to run back. Surely Gandalf had not fallen.

 

Boromir pulled him up into his arms, easily controlling his struggles to free himself, and ran for the stairs.  Legolas and Gimli were ahead of them.  Looking back, trying to twist free of Boromir’s grasp, Frodo saw Faramir pushing Merry and Pippin ahead of him up the stairs to the door, Aragorn pausing for one last look back as arrows fell around him.

 

Outside the East Door of Moria, as Gandalf had predicted, it was daylight.  The sun shone from a blue sky onto barren rock, the clear light of day mocking the blackness of Frodo’s grief.  He was set down as Boromir turned to restrain Gimli from returning to Moria to fight more orcs. 

 

Within him only emptiness, Frodo walked away from the others.  He knew what he had to do.

 

He would go on alone.  The great evil he carried would only bring death to all his friends, to the cousins he loved, and, worst of all, to Faramir.  He would go on his own. 

 

Surely that was what Gandalf meant when he told him to trust his own strength.  Frodo felt tears spill down his face as he thought that, thanks to Gandalf and Aragorn, he had studied the maps well enough to find his own way to Mt. Doom. 

 

"Frodo!"

 

Dimly, he heard Aragorn’s voice, but he ignored it. 

 

The roaring in his ears kept him from hearing the footsteps behind him until they were close, and two hands descended on his shoulders.

 

"Frodo!" 

 

It was Faramir.  Frodo twisted against his hands.  "Let me go," he said. 

 

"No."

 

"Please," Frodo begged. 

 

Faramir tugged him around to face him, knelt, pulled Frodo close, wrapping an arm around him, wiping the tears from his face with his other hand.

 

Frodo pushed at his shoulders, frustrated by his inabilty to break free.

 

"I will go alone," he said.

 

 

** _January 15, 3018_ ** __

 

After wading the shallow stream, Frodo climbed the steep bank and dropped his pack to the ground, standing a moment.  He looked around.  Merry and Pippin were busy putting together a cold meal.  Legolas and Gimli were talking to Aragorn and Faramir about where they might safely spend the night and who should stand guard.  Boromir leaned against a tree, arms crossed, not speaking, watching Aragorn.  Nobody was watching Frodo.

 

He found a tree under which leaves had drifted.  Bracing himself against the trunk, he slid down to rest on the pile of leaves, hand against his side. 

 

Aragorn had urged the Fellowship on after they had left Moria.  There had been no time to grieve for Gandalf.  As soon as night fell, the orcs would leave the safe darkness of the Mines to pursue them. 

 

The Company had hastened down the ancient road, the three great peaks of Celebdil, Fanuidhol, Caradhras, the Mountains of Moria, shining behind them.  Ruins lined the road, and young trees grew in their path.  South and East they went, traveling by the stream called Silverlode toward Lothlorien.  Frodo had managed to keep up with the others during the afternoon, but as the shades of evening grew, he found himself lagging behind.

 

The pain in his side was growing.  Bilbo’s mithril shirt had saved him from death when the cave troll had attacked, but the force of the blow had left him sore and stiff.  His body ached from being hurled against the wall.  The last few hours of the journey were torment as the night wind chilled him. 

 

Now, they were under the tall trees of Lothlorien, on the bank of a stream whose running waters sounded even more musical than the streams of Rivendell.  Even in the dark, Frodo saw that the trunks of the trees around him were grey and caught glimpses of gold above.  Legolas had described the wonder of the trees in this Elven kingdom to the Fellowship, and Frodo had been eager to see it. 

 

Now, all he wished for was rest and to be able to breathe without pain.  Perhaps he could rest a while before eating.  He closed his eyes.

 

"Frodo!"  Frodo felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.  He opened his eyes to see Aragorn kneeling beside him, Faramir standing behind.

 

"What is it?" Frodo asked.

 

"Are you all right?  I called you twice to come eat, and you didn’t answer."

 

 

"Frodo!"  Faramir knelt as well, placing a hand on his shoulder.

 

Frodo closed his eyes, his breathing shallow, and felt the pain subside.  "My side," he said.  "I’m just stiff and sore.  All I need is food and a chance to rest."

 

Aragorn shook his head.  "I’m at fault," he said.  "I should have tended your injury sooner, but we had to get to Lothlorien before dark.  Faramir, will you take Frodo, please, while I go build a fire?"

 

Faramir slid his arms around Frodo as Aragorn released him, picked him up and followed Aragorn.  Frodo stiffened, did not meet Faramir’s eyes.

 

Aragorn rapidly build a small fire in a hollow near the stream and set water to boil. 

 

Faramir set Frodo down next to the fire, and sat next to him. 

 

Frodo stared at the fire, afraid to look at Faramir, concentrating on walling off his grief and fear.

 

After the water boiled, Aragorn removed the pot and dropped a leaf of _athelas_ in to steep.  He turned back to Frodo and removed his cloak.

 

"Let me see your side," he said.  "Even though the mail-shirt turned the spear, you must have been terribly bruised."

Frodo sighed and let Aragorn remove his coat, vest, and shirt.  Normally, he would have protested Aragorn undressing him, but it no longer mattered.  Since everyone in the Fellowship now knew about Bilbo’s gift after the cave troll’s attack, he no longer had to keep it secret. 

 

He concentrated on fighting back his tears, hearing Gandalf’s voice, almost the last thing he’d said to him.  "_There’s more to this hobbit than meets the eye_."

 

When Aragorn pulled the mithril shirt off and opened the leather undervest, Frodo winced.  He saw that a large purple bruise covered much of his right breast and side, with small cuts where the mithril rings had been driven through the leather into his skin.  Aragorn pressed his hand gently against Frodo’s ribs, then turned him to examine his back, running his fingers gently over his shoulder and spine.

 

"You are bruised in front from the spear, in back from the impact with the wall," Aragorn said.  He pressed gently against Frodo’s back.  "But I don’t think any bones are cracked or broken."

 

Aragorn washed his wounds with fragrant water the &lt;/&gt;athelas&lt;/i&gt;had steeped in and bound a soft cloth around him, under the leather vest.  "If you can stand to wear the mail shirt still, I would sleep better," he said.  "Bilbo obviously knew what he was about, and I am glad he gave it to you."

 

Frodo nodded, allowed Aragorn to put the mithril shirt on, then donned his shirt, vest and coat.  His pain was greatly eased and he could breathe easily again.  He stood, ignoring the hand that Faramir held out to him, and went to join Merry and Pippin for daymeal.

 

* * * * * * *

** _January 15, 3018_ ** ** _.  Haldir and the Elves find the Fellowship.  Eventually, they agree to take the Company to Celeborn and Galadriel.  January 17, 3018.   The Company comes to Caras Galadhon at evening._ **

** **

Frodo stood a little behind Aragorn, looking at the immense trees of the Elven City.  Caras Galadhon was a two-day journey from where they had entered the northern border of Lothlorien.  They had slept the last two nights on _talans_ in the trees, much to Pippin’s displeasure.  Merry had been less vocal but still unhappy.  Frodo had not particularly cared because he did not think he could sleep any better on the ground.  He had lain awake most of the nights watching the stars wheel overhead, struggling with his grief.

 

Frodo had spent as much time as he could in either Aragorn’s company, or with Merry and Pippin.  He would not even look at Faramir for fear of seeing the love in his eyes which Frodo knew would break through all his attempts to control his grief, would undermine all his resolution to leave the Fellowship and go to Mordor alone.  To speak with him or touch him would be even worse.  Faramir had seemed to understand and had not tried to speak to Frodo, falling to the back of the group where he walked with Boromir. 

 

Haldir led them toward the City, and Frodo shifted his pack to a more comfortable position and followed Aragorn, keeping his eyes forward. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo lay on the ground, back turned to the rest of the Company, pretending to sleep. His body still ached faintly, eased a great deal by Aragorn’s treatment.  But the pain inside from Gandalf’s loss would not let him sleep. 

 

He did not want to talk to anybody.  He had not been able to say anything earlier as Legolas told them that the Elves were singing for Gandalf, as Pippin recited his verse for Gandalf’s fireworks. 

 

Frodo did not miss Gandalf’s fireworks.  He missed his voice, the twinkle in his eye, the scent of pipesmoke caught in a woolen robe.  He had not been able to eat although the food provided by the Lothlorien Elves was as wondrous as that of Rivendell.

 

Frodo had grieved when his mother and father drowned, but in memory, that grief seemed distant and faded.  That grief had filled his world but grew easier over time, and that loss was natural.

 

He had grieved when Bilbo left the Shire, but then had found him again in Rivendell, beyond all hope. 

 

This grief was different.  He struggled to try to understand it.  It weighed on him like one of the huge stones that had fallen when they’d attempted Caradhras.  This grief was not just his, but everyone’s.  Grief for what Gandalf’s loss meant.  Grief for all Middle-earth. 

 

Frodo had never had much hope for his quest despite what Elrond and Gandalf, even Faramir, had told him.  Now he had no hope. 

 

But he could not stay for that reason.  He had to go on, and he had to carry this grief with him.  He could only do so alone.

 

He had placed his bed as far away from everyone’s as possible, wanting more space than had been available in the _talans_.   He’d seen the hurt in Faramir’s eyes when they had made up their beds, but Frodo could not feel anything in response. 

 

Finally, all was quiet under the pavilion the Elves of Lothlorien had given them for their stay.  Frodo curled up, burying his head in the soft pillow, free to finally allow the tears burning in his eyes to flow. 

 

 

Finally, exhausted, Frodo collapsed, limp against Faramir, his sobs slowing, then ceasing.  He had gained no ease from his tears, but he could weep no longer. 

 

At some point, unknowing, Frodo slid into sleep, into dreams in which he saw Gandalf fall, again and again, and in which the flames of the Balrog rose higher and higher, then parted to reveal a fortress of adamant from which a fiery Eye searched.  For him. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir sat on a stone seat near a fountain some distance from the pavilion where the rest of the Company was sleeping.  He had not been able to eat.  Again, he saw the Lady Galadriel’s eyes, keen as lances, shining bright as stars, in his mind.  He felt that he had failed her, that her glance had stripped him naked and left him alone in the dark. 

 

He shivered although the air under the huge trees was warm, laden with the fragrant scents of growing things.  Aragorn’s voice sounded behind him, and Boromir closed his eyes momentarily.

 

"Get some rest.  We need set no guard here in the City where we can sleep without fear."

 

Boromir swallowed hard, turned to face Aragorn.  "I will not be able to rest easily here," he said.  "I hear her voice in my mind, speaking of Gondor and hope.  Yet this promise seems false."  He could not tell Aragorn what else he had experienced when she had held his eyes with hers, the sense that she had given him a choice and that he had failed to make the right choice, that he had failed Aragorn.

 

Aragorn hesitated, then sat near him on the stone seat.  He said nothing, but his silence invited Boromir to continue. 

 

"My father is a noble man and has ruled long in Gondor.  Yet his rule is failing, and our people lose hope.  I have seen this for some time and could think of no way to restore their hope.  That is why  I was willing to follow the riddle in the Dream.  I have come to believe that only you, only Isildur’s Heir, can restore my City’s hope." 

 

Boromir had been struggling with mastering his feelings for some time.  When Aragorn’s knife had slain the Orc who would have killed Boromir as he lay stunned on the floor of the Chamber of Records, that act had finally shown him the way.  As they had traveled through Lothlorien the past two days, he had spoken little, spending the time in thought.

 

Boromir’s debt to Aragorn was a binding, a binding he had experienced with no other.  Boromir’s support of Aragorn’s claim to the throne of Gondor might begin to repay that debt.  The feelings that had tormented Boromir and that could never be acknowledged would be buried in the loyalty and love he would owe his King.  And his Queen.

 

The silver light from the lanterns hung high in the trees shone down upon them, the waters of the fountain sounding in the background. 

 

"Have you seen the White City, Aragorn?  The White Tower of Ecthelion shining in the morning sun?  Have you ever been welcomed home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"  Boromir reached out, clasping Aragorn’s forearm.

 

"I have seen the White City, long ago," Aragorn said quietly.

 

Aragorn’s face was intent as he looked into Boromir’s eyes.  Boromir wondered when that had been.  Surely if Aragorn had come to Minas Tirith when Boromir was there, he would have remembered him.

 

"If you have not seen the City for some years," he said, "you will find it has dwindled.  Many of the noble houses are empty, and there are too few children in the City and too little laughter in the streets.  But your coming will change that.  We will ride through the gate together, and the people will see that the Lords of Gondor have returned."

 

Aragorn leaned forward, clasping Boromir’s forearm in return.  "You have changed your mind, then," he said, "concerning Gondor’s need for a King?"

 

"I have changed my mind concerning you," Boromir said.

 

Aragorn’s other hand grasped Boromir’s arm, and Aragorn pulled sharply.  Leaning forward and off balance to start with, Boromir found himself on his knees in front of Aragorn, held firmly by both arms, as Aragorn kissed him, hard and deep.

 

Boromir’s first response was a shocked joy, then anger flooded him.  Months of working and traveling together with no sign, no word, and now this?

 

He pulled back, wrenching his mouth and arms free, falling heavily against the stone seat, using it to propel himself backwards.  Dashing his hand across his mouth, he stared at Aragorn.  Panting, Boromir struggled to read his face, to make sense of what had happened. 

 

"Why," he started, but paused, unable to think of how to phrase what he needed to ask. 

 

"Is this not what you have wished?" Aragorn asked. 

 

Boromir rose, striking at Aragorn’s face.  Aragorn grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm, bringing Boromir back to his knees.  Boromir feigned giving way, relaxing his arm, then turned, brought up one foot to propel him against Aragorn, knocking him off the stone seat.  They both fell to the ground, Boromir on top, Aragorn holding Boromir’s wrist hard enough to bruise, Boromir grabbing for Aragorn’s wrist with his free hand.

 

Boromir felt the frustration and anger boiling inside him, tried to control his emotions.  His father’s swordmaster had beaten the lesson that anger made a fighter careless into him at an early age. 

 

Aragorn twisted and pushed hard, rolling over Boromir and pinning him, holding his wrists above his head.  Boromir bucked up, trying to dislodge Aragorn, but failed.  He stopped struggling, but was tense, fighting his body’s response to the warm weight of Aragorn, the intimacy forced on him by the position. 

 

"If you do not wish it, you need only say no," Aragorn said softly, his breath warm on Boromir’s cheek. 

 

Boromir closed his eyes, strained to break Aragorn’s hold.  He was quite sure Aragorn could feel the hardness between Boromir’s legs, as he could feel Aragorn pressing against him.  In the safe warmth of Lothlorien, they were clad only in their tunics and leggings, absent the chain mail and leather shirts each wore as protection.

 

"No," he said but even to his own ears his voice lacked conviction.

 

Yet Aragorn released his arms, rolled off him, moved to sit just outside Boromir’s reach. 

 

Boromir sat up, struggling to control his breathing. He pulled his legs up, rested his arms on his knees, and his head on his arms.  He could not look at Aragorn, could not see the knowledge in those blue eyes, eyes which seemed to have some of the same powers at the Elvish Lady to read his mind, to penetrate his heart.

 

Aragorn said nothing, but neither did he move to leave. 

 

Finally, Boromir raised his head.  He stared at Aragorn, reminding himself of how he had learned to protect himself against the love for his father that left him vulnerable to his lord’s unceasing demands.  He needed those walls, needed to set a guard on his feelings, in order to go on.  "I will not do this," he said, his voice low.  "I would see you King of Gondor, would ride with you into the City and stand for you in front of the Lord Denethor.  But that is all."

 

Aragorn bowed his head slightly.  "But will you continue to watch me so often?" he asked. 

 

Boromir felt himself turning red.  He had not realized that Aragorn had been aware of his scrutiny, perhaps had not even realized himself how often he found himself watching him.

 

"No," he said shortly, standing.  He turned and walked back to the pavilion, leaving Aragorn behind, ordering himself not to look back.

 

** _January 18-21, 3018_ **

 

Frodo woke slowly, wondering why he felt so sore.  Why he was sleeping sitting up.  He opened his eyes to find that he was sitting on Faramir’s lap, leaning against his chest, as Faramir slept propped against the base of a huge tree.  Frodo looked around, wondering where they were a moment, before sorrow in a dark wave flooded him. 

 

Moria.  Gandalf’s fall.  Lothlorien.  And Faramir had held him last night.  He had to get away.  Faramir’s hold on him was too strong. 

 

Frodo’s throat felt raw, his eyes burning.  He stood cautiously but, as always, his first movement woke Faramir.

 

"Frodo!"

 

Frodo walked away, refusing to look back or to turn, even when Faramir called his name a second time.  He left the pavilion without speaking to anyone or pausing to eat.

 

That day he spent walking under the trees alone, returning to the pavilion only at nightfall, driven by hunger and thirst.  But the next days were not so easy.  Frodo realized that while he had been gone, his Companions had decided upon a plan to keep him from being alone.

 

The next day, Legolas followed him.  When Frodo finally tired and sank to the ground under a tree, Legolas sat beside him, at first silent, sharpening the white-handled knives he carried at all times.  When Legolas finally spoke, he told Frodo stories, of the maiden Nimrodel and her lost lover Amroth, of Luthien Tinuviel and her love for Beren, a mortal man.  Frodo lay still, his eyes closed, caught by the beauty and sadness of the tales.  Finally, Legolas insisted that they return to the pavilion and eat something.  Frodo returned with him and tried to eat, but could swallow only a few mouthfuls. 

 

The day after, Legolas took Gimli with him to talk with the Elves in Lothlorien, and Frodo hoped he could leave without a companion.

 

But Merry and Pippin left their breakfasts half eaten to follow him when he tried to leave.  As soon as they were out of sight of the pavilion, Frodo turned to them. 

 

"What are you doing?"

 

Pippin scuffled his feet in the golden leaves, but Merry spoke firmly.  "Spending the day with you."

 

"Why?"

"Faramir and Aragorn are afraid you’ll try to leave, to go to Mordor on your own."

 

"I do have to go to Mordor alone," Frodo said wearily.  "But I won’t try to leave yet.  I doubt I could find my way out of Lothlorien even if the Elves would allow me to travel through their realm alone.  So why don’t you go back and finish your breakfasts?"

 

"No," Pippin said.  "It’s dangerous.  You shouldn’t be alone."

 

"I want to be alone."

 

"I’m sorry, Frodo," Merry said.  "But we wouldn’t let you leave the Shire alone, and we won’t let you be alone now.  You don’t have to talk to us or even look at us, but we’re coming with you."

 

Frodo shrugged and turned, walking away as quickly as he could.  He had no energy to argue with them.  It was easier to just walk and try to ignore them.  Perhaps he could talk to Aragorn and…to Aragorn later.

 

That night, after eating what he could, Frodo went to Aragorn and asked to speak with him.  Aragorn agreed, and they sat down near the fountain closest to the pavilion.  A soft silver light from lamps hung in the huge trees surrounded the fountain and shone on the lawn.

 

"Can I not be alone?" Frodo asked.  "I will not try to leave the Fellowship here though I believe that I must travel to Mordor alone."

 

Aragorn regarded him without speaking for a few moments.  "We will have to deal with the question of what road to take and who should take it before we leave Lothlorien," he said.  "But while we are here, none of us should wander alone.  Celeborn tells me that Orcs from Moria followed us over the northern borders and had to be fought back, that strange creatures who bear Saruman’s mark, a White Hand, have been seen on the western shore of Anduin, close to the eaves of the forest.  These creatures travel under the light of the Sun which Orcs have never done before.  The Elves maintain outposts on all the borders, but Lothlorien is no longer entirely safe."

 

Frodo shivered.  In Faramir’s dreams, the unusual Orcs he saw bore the mark of a White Hand.  Had Aragorn told Faramir about this? 

 

"Here, in Caras Galadhon, we are safe and well defended," Aragorn continued.  "But if we leave the city, we may be at risk.  If you wish to be alone, Frodo, you must stay close to the pavilion.  If you wander far under the trees, you cannot do so alone."

 

"Very well," Frodo said, reluctantly. 

 

Aragorn stood, placing his hand on Frodo’s head a moment.  "We will talk later, Frodo, when our grief has lessened.  But I don’t believe it is your fate to travel alone into the Black Country, nor that Gandalf would have advised you so.  We all need to heal before we can decide upon the next stage of our journey."  He turned and left without waiting for an answer.

 

Frodo sat a few moments, then rose and went to his bed. 

 

The following morning, Aragorn stood and followed Frodo out onto the lawn.  The rest of the Company, eating and talking amongst themselves under the pavilion, did not watch for which Frodo was grateful.

 

"Frodo, if you have no other destination in mind, I would like to take you to see Cerin Amroth.  Would you accompany me there?"

 

He had no desire to see any particular place, walking only to try to tire himself enough to sleep without dreaming and to avoid having to speak to Faramir, but neither did he care enough to argue with Aragorn.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir set his plate down and watched Frodo and Aragorn leave, side by side.  Heading North, they soon disappeared among the grey trunks of the mallorn trees that grew so thickly in the Elven city although Boromir had a hard time using that word to describe platforms and houses built among trees.  He thought the _talans_ defensible, if necessary, but uncomfortable for daily life.  He was glad that Aragorn was leaving, glad he would not have to find excuses for avoiding him this day.

 

Faramir sat across from him, talking to Merry about different uses for herbs in Gondor and the Shire.  Boromir had seen the change in Frodo since Gandalf’s fall.  Faramir still watched Frodo when they were at rest, or traveling.  But Boromir did not think that Frodo had spoken to Faramir since Moria. 

 

Boromir had doubted the wisdom of his brother’s relationship with Frodo so was surprised to find that he felt sadness at the rift growing between them.  But when he had tried to talk to Faramir, his brother had refused to speak about it. 

 

Legolas and Gimli finished eating and went off together.

 

"Boromir?" 

 

Boromir glanced around to see Pippin standing next to him.  "Yes, Pippin," he said, smiling at the Halfling, the hobbit he corrected himself.  They used that name themselves and preferred it. 

 

It was hard to change his usage, but he could see why the unusual name was preferable to the Gondorian term.  "Halfling" somehow gave the impression of half a creature, half a being, and although hobbits might be only half as tall as men, there was no denying the essential wholeness of them, their completeness.  He understood from Faramir that the root word of their name for themselves meant "hole-dweller" and that many hobbits did build elaborate holes in which to live.

 

"Would you walk with me a while?  Aragorn’s warned us not to walk alone, and Merry’s busy."

 

"Certainly.  Just let me get my sword."  Boromir rose, went to his bed, buckled on his sword.  He was glad that Pippin at least was not trying to go off on his own as Frodo had.

 

He walked beside Pippin who was leaving the clearing by a path which led South.  They walked on the white stone path for a while, moving beyond the city boundaries and into the woods.

 

They soon came to a stream which ran between high-cloven banks, and Pippin sat down on the bank, dangling his feet, looking into the water.  Sunlight shone on him, striking gold in his curly hair.  Boromir sat beside him enjoying the quiet and beauty of the place. 

 

Pippin pulled a handful of flat stones out of his pocket and began skipping them over the water. Boromir was impressed by his skill.  Pippin shared the stones, and Boromir tried his hand at it, but he had not skipped stones for years.  He laughed at his most dismal effort, and Pippin smiled up at him.

 

"Hobbits love to play throwing games," he said.  "And to use bows and arrows.  We practice throwing and shooting a great deal even if we don’t use swords."

 

"And of course practice does improve your skills," Boromir agreed.  "My attempts to skip a stone prove that, I’m afraid." 

 

"What games do you play in Gondor?"

 

Boromir hesitated.  "The children play a variety of games," he said.  "But…"

 

Pippin interrupted him.  "Only the children?" he said.  "But what do you do for fun?"

 

"Music," Boromir said slowly.  "And dancing at times."  He was surprised by the difficulty of the question.  He was trying to recall the last time he had done something purely for the fun of it.  "You must remember, Pippin, that since the Nameless Enemy has returned to Mordor, Gondor is more or less in a permanent state of war.  I’m afraid that games and fun have not been our first concern during the past years."

 

"Oh."  Pippin tossed his last stone straight up and watched it fall, circles rippling out from the centre.  "That’s sad."

 

Pippin shifted to look directly at Boromir, ending up closer to him.  Placing a small hand on Boromir’s arm, Pippin said, "Do you miss your home?"

 

Boromir shut his eyes, seeing the White Tower of Ecthelion shining in the sun the morning he had left Minas Tirith.  "Yes," he said, opening his eyes, looking at Pippin.  "And you?"

 

Pippin looked unusually serious as he nodded, and Boromir found himself searching for a way to restore his smile.  Pippin moved closer, leaning against Boromir’s arm.  Touched by the hobbit’s trust, Boromir put his arm around the small shoulders and hugged him. 

 

Pippin snuggled closer, slipping both arms around Boromir’s waist.  Boromir shifted a bit uneasily. 

 

"Perhaps we’d best return to the others," he suggested.

 

Pippin looked up at him, smiling.  "I’d rather stay here a while," he said.  "I think we both need some fun."  His hand slipped between Boromir’s thighs.

 

Boromir stiffened in shock, his arm dropping away from Pippin. 

 

"Pippin!"  He reached down and gently grasped Pippin’s wrist, pulling his hand away, then picked Pippin up and set him down at arm’s length.  "What are you doing?"

 

Pippin looked at him, smiling even more widely, and said, "Proposing we have some fun.  I like you, Boromir.  I thought you liked me."

 

"I do, but.."  Boromir was speechless.  When he had first met the Half--, the hobbits, he had thought them children, perhaps the children of the Elves, until he had clearly seen their feet and then been introduced to them.

 

But even when he realized they were more or less adults by their own people’s standards, at least he was sure Frodo was, although he sometimes wondered about Merry and Pippin, he had a hard time seeing them as peers.  He had no trouble accepting Legolas and even Gimli as equals probably, he admitted to himself, because of their skill in fighting.  The hobbits seemed childlike though their laugher, jokes, and playfulness charmed him.

 

When he’d learned that Faramir and Frodo were lovers, much of his anger had been at the thought his brother was taking advantage of an innocent.

 

"Well, then," Pippin rose and walked back to his side, slid his arms around Boromir’s neck, leaned in to kiss him. 

 

Boromir grasped his shoulders, pushed him away gently.  "I do like you, Pippin, but not….that is, I cannot.."

 

Pippin looked dismayed.  "Oh, no, Boromir.  Have you talked to Aragorn about it?  I know he’s a Healer, and I’m sure he could help."

 

Boromir shut his eyes in dismay.  He was acting like a fool.  He felt like a fool.

 

"Pippin, that’s not what I meant.  Please, sit down a moment," he said, opening his eyes.  "There, not next to me.  Thank you."  He took a deep breath.  "Pippin, I’m grateful for your offer, but I don’t believe that we should…" he hesitated, not sure how to phrase it.

 

"Tup?" Pippin said, eyes twinkling.  "Why not?"

 

Boromir stood, thinking that in some circumstances the only option was a retreat.  "Let’s return to the pavilion," he said firmly. 

 

"Oh, very well," Pippin said, scrambling up and following him.  "You know, Boromir, if you’d prefer Merry, you only have to say so."

 

Boromir lengthened his stride, refusing to say anything.  He had a great deal of thinking to do concerning hobbits.  And perhaps an apology to make to his brother.  Perhaps he had been the one taken advantage of, not Frodo.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo and Aragorn walked for some hours, heading mostly North, Frodo thought.  The woods around them were quiet, peaceful in their winter sleep, although much warmer than the lands west of the Misty Mountains.

 

Finally, they came to an open space among the trees.  Aragorn halted, and Frodo saw a large mound rising in front of him.  Two circles of trees grew upon it, the outer circle leafless but beautiful, bark as white as snow, naked shapes graceful as dancers against the deep green of the grass. 

 

The inner circle were mallorns, golden leaves still thick on their branches.  One towering tree stood at the very centre of the hill, at the heart of it all, with a white flet high in its branches.  Flowers were scattered through the green grass, small golden ones, larger white and green ones.

 

"It’s beautiful," Frodo said, caught in amazement.

 

"Cerin Amroth," Aragorn said quietly.  "The heart of the ancient realm, the mound of Amroth."

 

"Legolas told me the story of Nimrodel and Amroth," Frodo said.  "What are the flowers called?"  He felt sad, remembering Sam, and thinking how he would have loved this sight.

 

"The golden ones are _elanor_, the others _niphredil_.  They bloom only in winter.  Come, Frodo."

 

Aragorn took his hand and led him onto the mound.  As Frodo walked, he thought that they were traveling much further than the steps they took, that somehow they were moving far back in time.  The light that shone on this place was one for which he had no name.  He could name the colors, gold and green, white and blue, but names could not convey the beauty, the freshness of what he saw.  Everything was fresh as if newly made a breath ago, unstained by death or decay. 

 

As they entered the circle of white trees, a breeze blew from the South into their faces.  Frodo thought he heard the great voice of the Sea from afar. 

 

They moved through the circle of mallorns and came to the top of the mound.  There, Aragorn cast himself down upon the fragrant grass, and Frodo sat beside him. 

 

In this place of light, Frodo felt the blackness inside him falter, withdraw, as the shadows withdraw when the Sun rises each morning.  He felt as if his heart would dwell forever here even though he had to pass away into the outer world.  He drew a deep breath and looked at Aragorn, wondering.

 

"What is this place?" Frodo asked.

 

"The heart of Elvendom on earth," Aragorn said.  "A place out of mortal time, a promise that Light shines on despite the Shadow which is a small and passing thing.  A place for healing, Frodo."  Aragorn reached out and pulled Frodo to him.

 

Frodo wept upon Aragorn’s breast, but these tears brought him peace and soon passed like a spring rain.  He lay a while longer, quiet, resting in Aragorn’s arms.

 

He realized he still grieved for Gandalf, but his grief no longer caused him to despair, no longer crushed him.  He could go on.  If he was indeed meant to bear the Ring, to come to Mordor, as Gandalf had believed, then a way would be found.  He would have to trust to that rather than only himself.  But he would still not choose to take anyone into the dark land with him.

 

Although the light around them did not change, Aragorn eventually said, "We must start back soon.  Are you hungry?"

 

Surprised, Frodo realized he was.  "Yes," he said.  "For the first time in days."

 

Aragorn hugged him, then rose.  "That’s good to hear," he said.  "Seeing a hobbit refuse food is not a happy sight."

 

Frodo stood and followed Aragorn down the mound.  As they passed through the two circles of trees, crossed the open space at the base, and entered the trees around it, Frodo saw that the light among the trees was fading.  Looking back, he could see the light still shining unchanged on Cerin Amroth, and tried to keep that image in his heart for when the dark road ahead weighed heavily on him.  He followed Aragorn South, back to the pavilion.

 

By the time they reached Caras Galadhon, Frodo’s appetite had become immense.  But when he and Aragorn reached the place where the forest paths met the white stone path that led into the center of the city, Frodo’s first thought was not for food. 

 

Faramir was waiting by the path for them, and when he saw them approaching, he stood, but said nothing.  Frodo looked at him for the first time in days, and felt guilt lash through him.  He had treated Faramir so badly because of his own weakness.  He saw the lines of care and sorrow, and the way he stood as if expecting a blow.

 

Frodo wound his arms around Faramir’s neck, burying his face in his chest, clinging to him with all his strength.

 

"Frodo, a little less tightly, please," Faramir’s voice sounded strained, and Frodo loosened his grip slightly.

 

"Can I give you a hand?" Aragorn’s voice sounded amused, but Frodo didn’t care.

 

"Please," Faramir said, holding Frodo with one arm.

 

Frodo felt Faramir pulled to his feet and took the opportunity to wind his legs around him as well. 

 

"I’ll be sure to save you both some food for later," Aragorn said.  "Until then."

 

Frodo heard nothing, but then he was never able to hear Aragorn when he walked.  Faramir walked a few paces and then sat down, still holding Frodo, one arm tight around him.  Frodo felt Faramir’s other hand stroke his head.  They sat in silence a few moments.  Then,  "I’ve treated you badly," Frodo said.  "Please forgive me."

 

"Of course I forgive you, Frodo.  But could you tell me, why?"

 

Frodo winced, hearing the pain in Faramir’s voice.  "I….I was in despair because of Gandalf’s death.  I believed I had to go to Mordor alone.  I was afraid you would keep me from going."

 

Faramir’s hand stilled, resting on Frodo’s neck.  "I would, Frodo.  I will."

 

"I know."  Frodo sighed, trying to hold Faramir closer.  "But that doesn’t matter.  I don’t know what will happen when we leave Lothlorien.  But I cannot solve that problem by pretending you don’t exist because I’m afraid of being hurt.  I love you."

 

Faramir kissed his head, and Frodo raised his head, kissed Faramir on the lips, hungrily seeking reassurance.  Faramir held him tightly, returning his kiss with all the fervor Frodo could wish until they were interrupted by a loud rumbling.

 

"Oh," Frodo said, pulling back a little.  "My apologies."

  
Faramir laughed for the first time in days.  "A hungry hobbit is a blight on my honour, I do believe.  Aragorn promised to save us food.  Shall we return to the pavilion?"

 

"Yes, please."

 

They stood and walked hand in hand down the path.  Suddenly, Frodo wondered something.

 

"Was there a reason you met us today?" he asked. 

 

Faramir nodded.  "Aragorn told me of his plan to take you to Cerin Amroth, and I hoped that it would help.  I did not want to wait for you at the pavilion."

 

"You should see it before we leave," Frodo said.  "It’s, well, I can say it’s beautiful, but that hardly conveys what it is.  Of all the wondrous places I have seen so far, this is the most..it is somehow…" he fumbled for words.  "It really has to be seen," he finally concluded.

 

"Perhaps you’ll take me there before we leave.  And when the quest is over, perhaps we can visit Dol Amroth, near Belfalas, where Elves in ages past took ship to the Undying Lands.  Legends in Gondor hold that there is still Elvish blood in the houses of that country."

 

Frodo fell silent as they approached the pavilion.  It was hard to think of a time after the journey, to think of life continuing, but perhaps he needed to try to imagine such times. 

 

They entered the pavilion to find the others just finishing their meal.  As promised, Aragorn had made sure that food was waiting for them, and Frodo began eating eagerly.  To his disappointment, there were no desserts like the dark brown pasty and heavy cream one that he had so loved at Rivendell, but there were still many lovely things to eat, savory breads, rich fruits, and delicate meats. 

 

After Frodo had eaten several platefuls, he was able to look at his companions.  Feeling as if he had not seen them for days, he was attentive.  Legolas and Gimli were not there.  Faramir told him that they often ate with the Elves.  Aragorn sat quietly, not far from Frodo, reviewing the maps of the South and East they had brought with them.  Boromir sat as far away from Aragorn as he could be and still be in the pavilion, with Merry and Pippin sitting on either side of him.

 

Frodo paused to look again.  He noticed that his cousins were both sitting close to Boromir, and Pippin had his hand on his leg.  Boromir looked distinctly uncomfortable.  Remembering their conversation in Moria, Frodo wondered if the two were giving him a difficult time.  He resolved to try to talk to them.  But glancing at Faramir who was sitting next to him, Frodo decided that the conversation should take place the next day.

 

He set his plate down and wiped his hands on a cloth.  Faramir had finished sometime earlier and was lying next to him.

 

Frodo looked at Faramir who smiled at him. 

 

"I hesitate to ask after that meal," he said, "and after the day you’ve had, but would you care to walk for a while in the evening?"

 

"Yes," Frodo said.

 

** _January 21-22, 3018_ ** ** __ **

 

Frodo and Faramir left the pavilion, walking slowly.  The light was dimming in Lothlorien.  They left the lawn and the white stone path and walked under the trees.  The trees stretched far above them, and Frodo saw the lights above, some moving from tree to tree as Elves walked high above the ground.

 

Faramir paused.  "Shall we sit?" he asked.

 

Frodo nodded.  He was tired although he did not want to sleep yet.  They settled at the base of one of the huge mallorn trees which had fewer lights than the others, sitting in the fragrant grass.  Faramir sat first, held out his arms to Frodo, who hesitated, remembering the last time, then settled into his lap. 

 

Frodo gently placed his hand on Faramir's chest.  "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

 

"No, Frodo."

 

Frodo looked at Faramir in the fading light, then pulled the neck of his tunic down.  Even in the dimness, Frodo could see the mottling of bruises on Faramir's white skin.  "I thought so," he said quietly. 

 

Faramir laid his hand on Frodo's cheek to tilt his face up.  "A few bruises are nothing compared to what I felt when you walked away from me without speaking," he said in a low voice.  "Please, never do that again."

 

"I won't."  Frodo said. 

 

"Good."

 

Faramir wrapped both arms around Frodo, pulling him close.  Frodo let himself relax against Faramir's chest, lulled by the regular rise and fall of his breathing, conscious of his heartbeat.

 

They sat in silence for a time watching the lights of Lothlorien go out above them, seeing a few stars shining brightly, caught in the tangled web of tree branches.

 

Frodo surprised himself by yawning hugely, uncontrollably.  "Oh, no," he said.

 

Faramir laughed.  "What did you expect, Frodo?"

 

"I thought we could," Frodo hesitated, feeling shy after his avoidance of Faramir during the past days. 

 

"You've spent days hardly eating, walking yourself into exhaustion, and, I would guess, barely sleeping," Faramir said, tightening his arms around Frodo.  "Today, you experienced a healing, walked more, and ate, well, not a huge meal for a hobbit perhaps, but still, sufficient food.  You need to sleep, Frodo."

 

At the mere mention of sleep, Frodo yawned again.  This time he had warning enough to cover his mouth with his hand.  "But I wanted-" he began to protest.

 

"Let's go back and go to bed, to sleep," Faramir said firmly.  "Perhaps tomorrow, after breakfast, you'd care to accompany me to the hot pools."

 

"Hot pools?"  Frodo perked up despite his exhaustion.  "What are those?"

 

"Bathing areas, Frodo, even more amazing than in Rivendell.  What have you been doing since we came?  Using the fountains?"

 

Frodo squirmed in embarrassment.  He had drawn water from the fountains to wash upon occasion.  When he had even thought to do so.  "Yes," he said.

 

"Legolas showed us where to find the hot pools the first day you were here, but you had already left us.  My apologies that none of us thought to tell you."

 

Faramir gently lifted Frodo off his lap and stood, then leaned down and picked Frodo up again.

 

"I can walk," Frodo said.

 

"You could, of course, but it would give me pleasure to carry you.  May I?"

 

"Very well," Frodo said, relaxing against Faramir. 

 

Frodo fell into sleep before they reached the pavilion.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir shifted uneasily, trying to move out from under Pippin's hand which was creeping up his thigh.  Unfortunately, his movement brought him closer to Merry who slipped a hand around his arm. 

 

He pulled his arm away, stood quickly.  "I think I'll walk a while," he said, backing away, careful to choose the opposite direction from the one Faramir and Frodo had taken earlier.  He turned his back on the hobbits, and Aragorn, and walked as quickly as he could over the lawn and past the fountain. 

 

He thought he had managed his escape when he heard smothered laughter behind him.  The hobbits had impressed him from the start with their ability to move quietly, an ability which seemed more an affinity than anything learned.  But they did not always have the sense to refrain from speaking, or laughing.  He turned to see what he'd expected, Merry and Pippin following him.

 

Boromir had hoped that his refusal of Pippin's offer would end things, but it was clear from their behavior at dinner and now that it would not be that easy. 

 

"I would rather be alone," he said, trying to sound stern, placing his hand on his swordhilt.

 

"Why?" asked Merry. 

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Why do you want to be alone?  Why did you turn Pippin down?  Why are you trying to avoid us?  Why don't you want to-"

 

"That's enough," said Boromir.

 

He looked at them standing side by side in the light cast by silver lanterns.  They had been brave and uncomplaining companions, and he did not wish to hurt them.

 

"Can we sit for a time, just sit, and talk?" he asked.

 

They nodded in unison and followed him off the path to where several rocks were arranged in a circle in a small clearing.  Boromir sat on one of the rocks, and Merry and Pippin found themselves another, sitting side by side, arms around each other.  For the first time Boromir realized it was likely they were lovers as well as friends and shook his head at his own blindness the past few months. 

 

Boromir clasped his hands, stared down a while, trying to decide what to say and how to say it.  "I was shocked by Pippin's…offer," he said.  "The differences between Men and Hobbits are such that I was thinking of you as closer to children, as, well, innocents.  I thought of you as younglings I was teaching."  He looked at them, trying to tell what they were thinking, but the dim light defeated him.

 

"But Frodo and Faramir are-" Merry started.

 

"I know, I know," Boromir said hastily.  "But I was angry with my brother because I thought of you all as innocents.  I see I was mistaken."

 

Pippin slid off the rock and approached him.  Boromir drew back a little. 

 

"But now that you know we're not, what's the problem?  We both like you a great deal."

 

"The problem is that I can know you're not children, but when I look at you I still feel as if I see a child of perhaps ten years.  In Gondor, sex with children is wrong, it's against the law, and-"

 

Pippin drew back in turn.  "You have to have a law against _that_," he said, his voice rising.  "Of course it's wrong, so wrong nobody would ever do it!  Who would even think to make a law against such an evil thing?"

 

Merry rose, moved forward and put his arm around Pippin. 

 

Boromir struggled to understand.  Aragorn had told him that the Shire was a peaceful place, that none of the hobbits had had to fight against an enemy from outside their borders.  But Merry and Pippin's shock at Gondor's law implied something even more amazing. 

 

"Don't hobbits ever attack each other or hurt each other intentionally?  Don't you have laws against such things?  And people to enforce the laws?" he asked.

 

 

"Never?" Boromir said, disbelieving.  "What's the worst thing a hobbit has ever done?  That you know of."

 

A pause, and then Merry finally spoke.  "I suppose, it was when Bilbo went away with the Dwarves and everybody thought he was dead, so they had an auction.  And Bilbo always said  Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had made off with his silver, and he was never able to get all the spoons back."

 

"And I once saw her hit Otho with her umbrella," Pippin said.  "And, hobbit children sometimes...er, harvest other people's mushrooms."

 

Merry poked him in the ribs, "You mean, 'steal,'" he said.  "Yes, _they_ do!"

 

Pippin laughed. 

 

Merry continued, "In the Shire, we still keep to the King's laws although there has been no king for a thousand years.  All essential laws came down from the high king at Norbury, but there is no law such as you describe."

 

"The Shirriffs take care of things in the four Farthings," Pippin added.  "There are three in each Farthing, although I've heard that a few more have been hired to keep an eye on Outsiders recently.  Outsiders can cause problems, of course."

 

Boromir hardly knew what to say.  What they were describing seemed impossible.  He had grown up believing that the noble Houses were the keepers of law and lore in the City, responsible to the people of Gondor, but best suited to rule and a necessary part of the social order.  New laws would be created as necessary, and the law against abusing children which was created in his grandfather's day was seen as an important step in protecting children. 

 

He had thought his City's way the natural order of things.  Gondor's ways were best, but no doubt the other free peoples had similar systems.  He knew the Rohirrim did.  Little was known about the Dwarves and Elves in Gondor these days, but the records spoke of rulers and noble houses or families, and such systems always involved laws and a process for creating them.

 

What Merry and Pippin were describing seemed impossible to him. 

 

He stood.  "I would like to learn more about your land and people, and how you live," he said.  "But for now, do you understand why I feel the way I do?"

 

"It seems very strange to me," Merry said.  "And Faramir does not seem to feel that way.  He and Frodo--"

 

Boromir sighed.  "Men are not all the same," he said.  "As I'm sure is true for hobbits. Shall we return to the pavilion?"

 

 

"But we're not children!  Why can't he understand that?  And what sort of awful place does he come from?"

 

"Never mind, Pippin.  We'll talk about it later.  Maybe Faramir can help.  Or Frodo.  Come on."

 

Boromir walked faster, not wanting to hear any more.  He had the feeling that this conversation had not settled anything and may have made things worse.  He hoped that they would not be in Lothlorien much longer.  He wished he could go to Aragorn for advice but could not even begin to think how he would ask for it.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo felt warm breath and lips against his neck, squirmed away, tried to turn over and go back to sleep, but found himself held tightly.

 

"Frodo," Faramir said softly.  "It's time for nuncheon-do you want to keep sleeping or eat?"

 

Frodo opened his eyes reluctantly.  He felt as if he had only just fallen asleep, but he could see by the brightness of the light outside the pavilion that the sun must be high in the sky.  He was lying spooned against Faramir, wrapped in his arms.  Frodo stretched.  He was hungry, he realized. 

 

"Eat," he said.

 

Faramir released him, sat up, tossing aside bedding.  Frodo rose, followed Faramir to where trays of food were waiting.  The rest of the Company had apparently already eaten and left the pavilion.  After they had finished, Faramir asked him if he wished to visit the hot pools.  Frodo agreed.  They fetched clean clothes from their packs and left the pavilion.

 

Faramir led Frodo out of the clearing by an unfamiliar path, heading in a Southeastern direction.  The white stone path led them to a quiet part of the Elven city, started to go downhill, then branched off in multiple paths.  Some of the paths were clear, but others were blocked by silver ropes arranged in a different patterns, some nearly as complex as spider webs.

 

"What are the ropes for?" he asked. 

 

"Signals," Faramir said, pausing.  "Each path leads to a pool.  If no rope is strung across, the pool is not being used.  When you come to bathe, you can signal whether you wish privacy or not, depending on how you arrange the rope across the path.  Which would you prefer, Frodo?"

 

Frodo gazed up at Faramir.  His face was serious, but Frodo heard the undertone of laughter in his voice.  Frodo raised his eyebrows, tilted his head slightly, and pitched his voice higher.  "Surely you would not wish to be impolite to our hosts," he said, and waited.

 

"Expressing a desire for…privacy is not considered impolite.  Legolas has told me there are many different signals beyond the two basic ones that can be sent by means of the ropes, but I'm afraid I've not had the chance to learn them."

 

"You have much more experience here than I," Frodo said, "so I will trust your decision."  He picked an open path and started down it.  When Faramir caught up with him, Frodo asked, "So which did you choose?"

 

Faramir's hand slid around his neck and down his back.  "Privacy."

 

Frodo trembled, feeling the heat rising in his body.

 

The air was warmer here than around the pavilion, damper, with a slightly acrid smell.  The mallorn trees had gradually disappeared as the ground had fallen, replaced by smaller trees and flowering bushes which grew thickly, their branches closer to the ground.  Frodo paused to touch one of the flowers.

 

"Legolas told me they bloom year round close to the hot pools," Faramir said.

 

The path suddenly ended in a small clearing.  In the center was a pool of clear water.  Grass grew thickly up to where a border of flat rocks set closely together surrounded the pool, with one outlet where water spilled out, creating an ever-changing music.  The acrid smell was stronger here.  The flowering bushes grew thickly around the clearing, and Frodo could look up and see blue sky.  The sun was already sinking into the west, so part of the pool was in the shadow. 

 

"It's beautiful," Frodo said.

 

Faramir set his bundle of clean clothes down on the grass and began to undress.

 

"The pool is fed from below, so the water is always clean," he said.  "Come, Frodo."

 

Frodo stripped off his clothes happily, making sure to loop the Ring securely and place it in the pocket of his clean trousers.  He had been wearing the same ones for days without thinking about it but was glad to get out of them. 

 

Faramir tossed him a small ball of soap, and Frodo stepped into the pool. The temperature made him go slowly at first, but when he sank down into the water, it felt wonderful.  The bottom of the pool sloped gently, the water in the center rising only a little above Faramir's waist when he entered and crossed to join Frodo near the edge. 

 

"Some of the others are larger and deeper," he said, sitting beside Frodo, leaning back against the side.  "I haven't been to this one before."

 

They sat a while in silence, Frodo enjoying the warmth of the water.  Finally, he stood and moved out into the deeper water to wash, ducking under to rinse.  The soap had a herbal scent, foaming in the water.  When Frodo'd finished, he gave the soap to Faramir who had to kneel down to get fully under the water.  He rose, pushing his wet hair back out of his face, shaking his head.  Water trickled down his shoulders and chest.

 

"I forgot to bring any drying cloths," he said, wading toward Frodo and extending his hand.  "But we can lie on the grass until we dry."

 

Frodo nodded, unable to speak, and took his hand.  They climbed out of the pool together.  Faramir moved to a spot where the sun still shone on the green grass, and lay down on his back, tugging Frodo down beside him.  Frodo lay on his side next to Faramir, who released his hand and slid his arm around Frodo's back, pulling him closer.

 

Frodo ran his hand gently across Faramir's chest, still pained by the fading bruises that marked him.  Faramir opened his eyes, looked into Frodo's and shook his head slightly.  He took Frodo's hand gently, raised it, and kissed his palm, then placed it on his shoulder.  Faramir ran his hand back up Frodo's arm, slid it around his back.

 

Frodo shuddered, the slickness of wet skin sliding against wet skin so delicious, and leaned over, throwing a leg across Faramir's body, pulling himself up, to kiss him.  A gentle touch first, lips closed, brushing, then retreating.  A nuzzle, some more pressure, lips slowly parting. 

 

Frodo pressed in, tongue curling delicately in Faramir's mouth, opening further, sweetness flowing.  The warmth of the sun on his back, the warmth of Faramir beneath him, intoxicated him. Frodo slid his hands up, winding them in Faramir's tangled hair, holding his head as he pulled himself closer, mouth demanding more.

 

Releasing Faramir's mouth, Frodo licked the trickles of water running down Faramir's throat, sucking hard at the soft skin where his neck met his shoulder.

 

Faramir's arms tightened around him, pulling him up and over to lie on Faramir' chest.  Frodo squirmed, his erection caught between his belly and Faramir's.  Frodo closed his legs, lying stretched out on Faramir, and felt him thrust up, his erection sliding between Frodo's thighs.  Frodo tightened his thighs, and felt Faramir twist beneath him, moaning. 

 

 

Frodo panted.  "Please," he managed.  Faramir released him, pulling out, and Frodo sat up, trembling.  He slid back, one hand behind him, finding Faramir, positioning himself. 

 

Faramir slid his hands up Frodo's thighs to his hips, held tightly, as Frodo pushed down, slowly at first, then faster.  Faramir cried out, held Frodo, thrust up into him, out, back in, again and again.

 

Frodo ran his hands down Faramir's arms, held tightly, as he was filled, loved, taken, and held.  Faramir pushed him back slightly, changing the angle, and thrust harder, causing Frodo to come, tensing, then releasing, shuddering at the intensity of his pleasure. 

 

Harder and faster, Faramir bucked beneath him, finally coming deep within, holding Frodo still for a long moment, then grasping his arms and pulling him forward.

 

Frodo lay a few moments, tried to free his arms. 

 

"Oh, no," Faramir said quietly.  "You're not getting away again."

 

Frodo smiled happily.  "I wasn't planning to," he said.

 

"Good."

 

They lay in silence a while longer, as shadows crept across the clearing.  Finally, reluctantly, Faramir sighed and spoke.  "I suppose we should return to the pavilion."

 

"We can always come back here again tomorrow," Frodo pointed out.

 

"True," Faramir said.  He pulled Frodo closer for a soft kiss, then released his arms.  Frodo rolled off him and stood, stretching.  He returned to the pool for a brief wash, dried himself on his dirty shirt, and found and donned his clean clothes. Reluctantly, he hung the Ring around his neck again although its weight seemed less in Lothlorien than in Moria.  Then, as Faramir finished dressing, Frodo bundled their dirty clothes together. 

 

They walked away slowly, following the path back to where it met the main one.  Faramir paused before undoing the rope.  "Do you wish to learn the signal for privacy, Frodo?"

 

"Since I won't need it unless you're here," Frodo said, "I don't need to."

 

Faramir laughed, untied the rope, and they left, passing two grey-clad Elves heading in the opposite direction.

 

When they returned to the pavilion, they found Aragorn talking to Legolas and Gimli who had brought news from Haldir about recent incursions of Orcs into Lothlorien.  The three were standing together, just outside the pavilion, too intent on their discussion to do more than nod a greeting to Frodo and Faramir. 

 

Inside, Frodo saw Boromir sitting by himself, his back to Merry and Pippin.  Merry and Pippin were sitting close together, looking serious, and Frodo wondered what had happened to them.  As soon as Frodo and Faramir entered, Boromir rose to his feet and came to them.

 

He looked troubled and did not greet them, speaking urgently.  "May I sit with you while you eat," he asked.  "I need to talk with you."

 

"Yes, of course," Faramir said.

 

Frodo looked again at Merry and Pippin, remembering what he'd seen last night.  "Boromir, is there some problem between you and my cousins?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

 

Boromir looked down, then knelt to speak to him.  "Yes, Frodo," he said.  "It's…complicated."

 

"Do you really need to speak to both of us, or should I try to talk to Merry and Pippin?"

 

Boromir hesitated, looking at Frodo without speaking, then up at Faramir.  "I don't know," he said, slowly.  "I'm afraid that some things I said upset them although I didn't mean to do so.  Perhaps it would be better if you spoke to them."

 

Frodo nodded.  He went to the trays of food and filled a plate for himself, then joined Merry and Pippin while Faramir and Boromir ate together.

 

As he settled down, Frodo saw how worried his cousins looked and wondered what could have caused them such distress.

 

 

** _January 22, 3018_ ** ** __ **

 

Boromir made a pretense of putting food on a plate, filling a goblet with a bubbly clear liquid with an Elvish name that did not translate into the Common Tongue from what Legolas had said.  But since the drink was delicious, Boromir’d decided he didn’t care.

 

He followed Faramir outside the pavilion and onto the lawn.  There they could sit and talk where the others could not hear.  Boromir placed his plate and goblet on one of the flat rocks that was near the fountain and sank down, sitting cross-legged, his back still to the pavilion.

 

Faramir sat on the ground on the other side of the rock.  He began eating hungrily.

 

"I suppose they’ll know what we’re talking about," Boromir said.  "But I seem to make things worse every time I try to talk to Merry and Pippin."

 

"What has caused this upset?" Faramir asked quietly.

 

Boromir stared at his plate, pushing the food around.  It was surprisingly hard to talk to his brother about his problem.  If there was anyone else, he would have preferred it.  But although Boromir was sure Aragorn knew more about Hobbits than Legolas or Gimli, he could not face trying to talk to Aragorn about Pippin’s proposition, or the misunderstanding afterwards.

 

"Boromir?"

 

Boromir sighed, began to speak, still not looking up.  "Yesterday, Pippin asked me to accompany him when he left the pavilion, for safety’s sake I thought.  I was happy to do so, and we walked for some time, then sat beside a stream.  He was melancholy, missing his home, but then he…" Boromir struggled for words.  "He proposed that we, well, that we have sex."

 

Boromir heard Faramir choke, then cough.  He looked up to see Faramir take a hasty drink from his silver goblet.

 

"Yes, I’m sure it’s quite amusing," Boromir said stiffly.  "I could not accept his offer."

 

"My apologies," Faramir spoke, had to pause to clear his throat.  "Truly, I was not laughing at you, but at how we’ve had somewhat similar experiences with hobbits.  They are…not shy in pursuing what they want."

 

Boromir relaxed slightly, glad to have his recent thoughts confirmed.

 

 

"I also owe you my apology," Boromir forced himself to continue, to look directly at his brother.  "I was angry with you over your involvement with Frodo because I had thought him an innocent as well.  I gather I was wrong."

 

Faramir nodded.  "I made the same mistake," he said, "Although I thought Frodo older than Merry and Pippin.  Yet I was shocked to learn he is fifty years old."

 

"Fifty!"  Boromir was forty and astounded to learn that Frodo was older than he.  "How can that be?"

 

Faramir shrugged.  "How can they eat twice what a warrior of Gondor does and remain so slim," he said, smiling.  "They’re hobbits.  I suppose just as horses and dogs eat differently and age differently, so Hobbits and Men are different in some ways."  Faramir smiled at Boromir.  "Although there are similarities.  I don’t know enough to say for certain although I imagine Gandalf could have helped us.  He told me once that he thought the two peoples were related.  I gather from stories Frodo has told me that Merry and Pippin are some years younger than he, but they’re not children.  And none of them are innocents when it comes to sex."  Faramir paused, then said, "Quite the contrary, I understand."

 

Boromir pushed his plate aside, unable to continue the pretense that he was eating, and drained his goblet. 

 

"What you tell me doesn’t seem sufficient reason for Merry and Pippin being upset," Faramir said.  "Did something else happen?

"Yes.  Although I now know they’re not children, still, I’ve been teaching them, and when I look at them, I cannot see them as, well, as potential lovers.  They still seem so childlike.  And in some ways are so innocent of the world outside the Shire.  When I was trying to explain that, to tell them how hard it was not to see them as children, I mentioned our law against abusing children, and…I don’t know, somehow that upset them terribly.  They have no such law, and it seems that, because of that, no such thing could possibly exist in their world.  They now see Gondor as this terrible place, and…"  Boromir trailed off. 

 

The more he talked, the more confused he became.  He was afraid that the hobbits he liked now saw him as a threat to them.  They’d left the pavilion early, before he awoke, and he’d not seen them all day.  When he’d returned for daymeal, they were eating, but had refused to speak to him.  What could Faramir say or do after all to help him?

 

"I think I see," Faramir said slowly.  "Frodo and I’ve not talked about that law.  But what he has told me of the Shire seems impossibly peaceful and law-abiding, so unlike Gondor that I’ve found it hard to believe at times."

 

Boromir nodded. 

 

"I think I’ll have to talk to Frodo," Faramir said.  "He may be the only one who can make sense of this and talk to his cousins.  Our peoples are so different that such misunderstandings can easily happen.  If they can even understand that much, it should reassure them."

 

"I’m sorry that what I said upset Merry and Pippin, and I want us to remain friends for the rest of our journey."  

 

Faramir stood, gathering his dishes.

 

Boromir looked up at him.  "I know I have no right to ask," he said, "and will understand if you do not wish to answer.  But I truly do not understand how, why..."

 

Faramir looked gravely at him.  "What?"

 

"There are such differences between our peoples, differences that seem so insurmountable at times, that I wonder how you could love a hobbit."  Boromir bit his lip, knowing he was expressing himself clumsily, not wanting to anger his brother again, but wanting to try to understand this choice. 

 

He knew Faramir had more experience with involvements with others, having an ease with people that allowed him to love and then move on without ill feelings on either side.  Boromir had sometimes envied him that ease.  Boromir’s own life had been more focused on warfare and command, and until recently he had not felt this choice to be a problem.

 

"Ah."  Faramir stood a while, looking over Boromir’s head, watching Frodo, Boromir assumed. Finally, quietly, Faramir spoke, almost as if to himself.  "I suppose the only answer I can give you is that I did not fall in love with a hobbit.  I fell in love with Frodo."

 

Faramir paused a moment and, when Boromir said nothing, moved past him toward the pavilion.  As he passed Boromir, Faramir rested his hand on Boromir’s shoulder for a moment. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Sitting with Merry and Pippin, Frodo ate in silence.  Hobbit table talk tended to come only near the end of the meal when the participants were in the happy state of filling in the corners with favorite tidbits and drinks.  The early and middle stages of the meal were for distribution and eating of food, with talk being perceived as a rude attempt to disrupt the most important business. 

 

Judging by the plates and bowls scattered around them, Merry and Pippin had not been too upset to eat heartily which reassured Frodo.

 

When Frodo finished his first plateful, he returned for a second one, choosing mostly fruits and sweet pastries, and filling a goblet with the clear drink favored by the elves.  This time, when he returned to sit with his cousins, he spoke first.

 

"What’s wrong?" he asked.

 

Merry and Pippin looked at each other, started talking at the same time, then stopped to allow the other one to finish.  Frodo sighed, nibbling at a pastry.

 

"Merry, why don’t you tell me," he suggested.

 

Pippin nodded.

 

"Did you know that there’s a law in Gondor against people having sex with children?" Merry demanded.

 

Frodo set his pastry down and looked at Merry.  "No," he said.  "I hadn’t heard that."

 

"Boromir told us," Merry said.  "Explaining why he turned Pippin down."

 

"Wait a minute," Frodo said.  "Why he did _what_?"

 

Speaking hurriedly, Merry described Pippin’s proposal, Boromir’s refusal, and the conversation about sex, children, and Gondorian law.

 

Frodo, remembering their talk in Moria, thought he should not have been surprised to hear what Pippin had done.  But he was surprised to hear the rest of it, especially the rudeness on Merry and Pippin’s part.  The issue of Gondorian law was so confusing that he tried to set it aside for a while.  He would have to talk to Faramir about that. 

 

Looking at Pippin, he asked, "You propositioned Boromir, but when he refused you, you both kept after him?  When he said he wasn’t interested?  Pippin!"

 

Pippin blushed and looked away.  "I know," he said.  "But I didn’t think he really meant it.  And then, to find out he thought we were children.  That’s awful.  Does Faramir think you’re a child?"

 

"NO," Frodo said, shocked.  "Of course not.  We talked.  He knows my age.  Although, he was surprised to learn it.  I think he thought I was younger, and possibly a virgin."

 

Merry patted Pippin on the back.  "See, I told you so."

 

 "I  know, but after what Boromir said, I just wasn’t sure.  They’re so strange sometimes."

 

"And," Frodo noted, "if Boromir thought you were children and turned you down for that reason, it shows how honourable he is.  Why would that upset you?"

 

Merry nodded.  "I hadn’t thought of that," he admitted.  "He also talked about teaching us as a reason for saying no."

 

Frodo picked up his pastry again.  "So, I gather you told him you weren’t children, and then what?"

 

"That’s when he started talking about it being against the law in Gondor," Pippin said.

 

Merry interrupted him. "Actually, he said that while he understood he’d made a mistake, he still looked on us as like children, and then he talked about the law. And then Pippin got upset."

 

"You did too."

 

"Not as upset as you."

 

Pippin poked Merry.  "I bet you were."

 

"Weren’t."

 

Frodo cleared his throat loudly.  They stopped poking each other and looked at him, grinning.

 

"Apparently you’re not upset any more?" Frodo asked.

 

Pippin shrugged.  "I guess not.  I’m still confused.  Gondor must be a terrible place if they have to have such laws.  And he seemed to think the Shire was as bad, that we had or needed to have laws."

 

Frodo finished his pastry and wiped his hands on a cloth, then picked up his goblet and drained it.  The differences between Gondor and the Shire when it came to laws and governing were vast, he knew, and were reason for some of the tension between Aragorn and Boromir. 

 

Since the only official in the Shire was the Mayor of Michael Delving whose main job was to give speeches, Frodo’d had a hard time understanding why Aragorn being the Heir of Isildur might be a problem for Boromir and Faramir’s father until Faramir had explained.  And Frodo was still a bit confused about what status Denethor had, and what would happen when Aragorn came to the city.  Frodo didn’t exactly want to try to explain what little he knew to Merry and Pippin.

 

"Gondor is a large country," he said, "and Minas Tirith a huge city with many people living closely together.  It’s much larger than Bree.  They’re all Big Folk.  They don’t know everyone in the city, like we know everyone in Hobbiton and Bywater.  Many aren’t related to each other.  Of course, they live and work differently than Hobbits.  They may need these laws, but I don’t think it can be that terrible a place.  Look at Faramir and Boromir, how much they’ve helped us, what a journey they were willing to make to try to save their city from Sauron’s attacks.  There may be some people there who are bad, but then I cannot say all hobbits are equally good."

 

"But nobody would hurt a child," Pippin protested.

 

"I know, Pippin.  I’m not saying they would.  But we were all pretty frightened of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins when we were growing up.  And I hadn’t been back to Farmer Maggot’s farm for quite a few years, not since you both convinced me to help you steal his mushrooms!" 

 

Merry and Pippin laughed, and Frodo relaxed.

 

"I’m sure Boromir would be glad to talk to you more about Gondor, and his city," he said.  "But not if you keep teasing him.  I know you’re not used to anybody but me saying no, Pippin, but you cannot keep bothering him.  I’m sure he means what he says."

 

Pippin nodded, looking down.

 

"And, Merry, what were you doing getting involved?" Frodo asked.

 

Merry shrugged.  "Well, after Aragorn told me no, I thought I might as well see if Boromir’d be interested."

 

Frodo shut his eyes, shuddering.  "You asked _Aragorn_," he started, then, "No.  Don’t tell me.  I don’t want to know."  At least he could be sure neither would try to bother Aragorn the way they had been going after Boromir.

 

"Frodo?"

 

Frodo turned to see Faramir standing across the pavilion.  Boromir was still sitting out on the lawn, his back to them, dimly lit by the silver lanterns. 

 

"May I join you?"

 

"Please," Frodo said, relieved.

 

Faramir crossed to sit with them. 

 

"My brother fears that what he said upset you," he said, looking at Merry and Pippin.  "I think there may be a misunderstanding.  I wanted to talk to Frodo and to you both to see if we could come to a better understanding of each other."

 

Frodo looked at his cousins who did not seem inclined to speak.  "I think there was some misunderstanding," Frodo said, "though I also think my cousins have behaved badly.  In fact, I think they owe your brother an apology."

 

Faramir looked surprised.  "Truly?  I think my brother also wants to offer his apologies.  Well, if that’s the case, I would suggest that everyone wait for morning.  I think we’d all be the better for some sleep.  Let me tell Boromir."

 

He rose and walked back to his brother.

 

Frodo looked sternly at his cousins.  "You will apologize tomorrow," he said.  "Won’t you?"

 

They nodded. 

 

Merry hesitated, then spoke.  "I’ve been wondering, Frodo."

 

"What?"

 

"They’re so different from us, I don’t understand, how could you love a Big Person?"

 

Frodo sighed, picked up his empty plate and goblet, and rose to his feet.  "I don’t know, Merry," he said.  "Yes, there are differences.  But in some ways Faramir is more familiar to me than some of the hobbits I’ve known all my life.  I, well, I don’t think of it as loving a Big Person.  I love Faramir.  Why don’t you go to bed?  Sleep sounds awfully good."

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir turned to watch Faramir return to the pavilion  and speak to the hobbits.  Merry and Pippin began settling down for the night, and Frodo and Faramir gathered  their blankets and walked side by side to the back where one of the giant trees supported the roof of the pavilion.

 

It was slightly humbling to think that his brother probably knew enough about him to have made sure he was given the reprieve.

 

"Boromir."

 

Boromir recognized Aragorn’s voice, kept himself from showing his surprise.  He’d not heard Aragorn approach.  He turned his head to see Aragorn standing close.

 

"Aragorn."  Boromir wished he had not lingered.  After everything that happened earlier, he did not want to speak to Aragorn alone.

 

"Will Faramir and Frodo be able to help you with Pippin?"

 

Boromir stared, silent.  He did not know what to say.  How could Aragorn know?

 

Aragorn smiled at him.  "Merry presented his proposition to me yesterday, and after I told him no, he told me what he and Pippin had planned.  And I saw Faramir and Frodo talking to the two of them."

 

"Oh.  Yes, I think so.  It was a misunderstanding."

 

Aragorn tilted his head.  "Misunderstanding?"

 

Boromir considered rising and just walking away but could not bring himself to do so.  "Sit down," he said, "If we’re going to talk, I don’t want to have to keep looking up."

 

Aragorn nodded, sat on the stone against which Boromir was leaning, and stretched his legs out in front of him.

 

 

Boromir turned to face Aragorn, crossing his arms and leaning sideways against the stone, drawing one of his legs up. 

 

Aragorn’s face was half in shadow, half in light.

 

"Pippin did proposition me," Boromir said.  "And I said no."

 

"Of course."

 

Boromir felt himself turning red, was sure Aragorn’s response was that of amusement.  "I had thought the hobbits younger than they are," he continued, trying to keep his own voice neutral.  "Certainly innocents, younglings I was teaching.  As I tried to explain myself to them, I mentioned a law in Gondor against sex with children that upset them.  The Shire is apparently very different from Gondor."

 

"Yes.  It is.  I think I understand."

 

Aragorn shifted in turn, leaning back a little, drawing one knee up to rest his elbow on. 

 

"I don’t know if you know the Northern Dunedain have long guarded the Shire and other Northern lands that were once part of Arnor," he said.  "But we have.  All of us serve some time in and near the Shire.  Some of us come to know the hobbits well.  I spent a decade there in my youth and learned something about their customs.  Much that is commonplace in Gondor would shock them.  No doubt much that is common in the Shire would surprise the people of Minas Tirith.  And I know some of my kin have a hard time seeing them as anything but children perhaps because of their size and their openness.  Would you like me to speak to Merry and Pippin?"

 

Boromir was half relieved at Aragorn’s understanding, half embarrassed at his relief.  "No," he said, "although I appreciate your offer.  I think Faramir and Frodo have helped us all see the problem.  And how to resolve it."

 

"Good."

 

Silence. 

 

Boromir no longer felt tired.  He was not sure what he felt.  The journey he had insisted on taking upon himself had seemed so simple at the start.  He had half expected never to find Imladris, or at worst to find it had been deserted long ago as was true of so many of the Northern places of power.  At best, he had thought to return immediately to his city with a mighty weapon to aid in the battle against the Nameless Enemy. 

 

He had not thought to spend months living with Elves and more time traveling with Halflings and a Wizard, an Elf and a Dwarf, almost all creatures of children’s stories in Gondor.  Not thought to embark on a quest to destroy a legendary Ring from Gondor’s distant past.  Everything was different than what he had planned or thought.

 

A warm hand settled on his head, and Boromir found himself relaxing, allowing the faint pressure to tilt his head back until he was looking directly into Aragorn’s eyes as he leaned over Boromir.

 

"Is something else wrong?" Aragorn asked softly.

 

"Not wrong, but…"  Boromir hesitated, then forced himself to continue.  "You have implied you know something of the customs of hobbits.  What might you tell me of the customs of Elves?"

 

Boromir felt Aragorn’s hand drop away but did not move.

 

Our fates thus differ."

 

Aragorn paused.  "Is that what you seek to know?" he asked.

 

"Perhaps," Boromir said slowly, stunned at the implications.  He had known Elves were powerful and long-lived but had never heard this lore.  He thought of Legolas and what had at times seemed like coldness, detachment, from the rest of the Fellowship and now seemed something entirely different. 

 

Boromir drew a breath, feeling as if he were walking along a high cliff where the air was thin, not knowing if he would fall to his death on rocks below or reach a height greater than he had dreamed of.  "But I was thinking more of their…marriage and sexual customs."

 

A pause, and Aragorn’s hand returned, running through his hair.  Boromir closed his eyes, remaining still under the touch.

 

"For Elves, love can be many things.  It can be an art, a creation with one other done over centuries.  It can be a dance during which two briefly share pleasure and then leave to be with other partners.  With ages of life, marriage is not sought by all or even most.  Mortals bear more children than Immortals, or the Earth would be inhabited only by Elves.  An oath of fidelity to one other can be sworn, but the choice is individual.  Many choose to enjoy a more….complicated set of relationships.  It might be simplest to think of such relationships as marriages between more than two individuals, marriages that involve larger groups.  Fidelity and commitment can be sworn to others by more than two."

 

Boromir tried to keep his breathing even, did not speak.  Aragorn’s hand moved down to the back of his neck, rubbing softly.

 

"Such an….arrangement would be forbidden in Minas Tirith," Boromir said.

 

"If it were known of, certainly," Aragorn agreed pleasantly.  "But among Elves, these matters are not ones of public law or contract.  They are private, not spoken of abroad."

 

"It would be difficult for many Men to accept." Boromir said.  "Those not raised by the Elves."

 

"True.  But difficult is not the same as impossible.  And I am not interested in many men."

 

Boromir shuddered, not knowing if he was feeling fear or longing or if they were the same.

 

He felt the movement next to him, was half prepared for the touch of Aragorn’s mouth, felt his neck gripped, his head held, and opened his lips to the thrust of Aragorn’s tongue. 

 

Raising his hand to Aragorn’s shoulder, he gripped it, feeling his fingers tangle in his long hair, not sure whether he would pull Aragorn down or push him away. 

 

He pushed, and Aragorn released him, drawing back slightly.

 

Boromir opened his eyes and swallowed.  "I need…"  He shook his head, pulled his hand back, feeling cold and bereft.  There was so much he needed.  "I need time," he said.

 

Aragorn sat back, creating a free space for Boromir’s movement.  "You have it," he said.  "I will wait for you to tell me what you wish."

 

Boromir sat a few moments, fighting with his longing to reach out, pull Aragorn down, and resolve his doubts and questions.  He almost wished Aragorn would act although if he did, no doubt it would lead to a fight like last time.

 

 

** _January 23-February 14, 3018_ **

 

Frodo woke, wrapped in Faramir's arms, hearing Merry and Pippin's voices.  He and Faramir had made their bed at the foot of one of the giant trees that supported the pavilion, lying between two great roots that rose some distance above the ground to shelter them from view.

 

Frodo could not distinguish words clearly, but his cousins sounded happy enough.  Boromir's voice joined in, the deeper sound clearly standing out, and Frodo stretched, smiling.  He hoped everybody could apologize, and things could get back to normal, or as normal as they could be without Gandalf. 

 

 

Faramir stirred behind him, releasing him.  "Do you wish to join them?" he asked quietly.

 

"No.  Definitely not," Frodo said.  "In fact, I don't wish to talk to them at all this morning.  They need to work things out on their own."

 

Faramir laughed, his breath warm against Frodo's neck.  "I agree.  Although one hopes this conversation will not lead to further problems requiring our help."

 

Frodo turned over to look at Faramir.  "Do you think it's funny?" he asked, surprised.  "I wasn't happy with what I learned from Merry and Pippin about their behavior, and your brother seemed so upset."

 

"The problem wasn't funny, I agree," Faramir said.  "And yes, Boromir was upset.  But I do find one part of the situation amusing.  My big brother who has won so many victories in battle, including the retaking of Osgiliath, found himself brought to bay by two hobbits and had to come to me for help.  I would never tell him what I'm telling you, but I do see some humour in his problem, now that's it's resolved."

 

"I think I see," Frodo said slowly.

 

"Perhaps.  But perhaps not.  Although you told me you lost your parents when you were young, I gather they loved you greatly, as does Bilbo.  Have you ever been found wanting, ever been told by Bilbo or someone else you loved that you were not good enough?"

 

"Never," Frodo said, shocked at the thought. 

 

Faramir shifted, rolling over to lie on his back, sliding one arm around Frodo, staring up into the high branches of the mallorn tree.

 

"The stories you've told me about growing up in the Shire, and what Boromir learned from Merry and Pippin, all imply a place where large families live together happily, and where children are loved and cared for by all in those families."

 

"I think that's true, at least of the hobbits I know," Frodo said.  "Bilbo was unusual in living alone and not marrying. I never quite understood why he adopted me after my parents died.  But most hobbits live with parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, several generations all more or less content under one roof.  Yet I never felt any lack of love from Bilbo, and all our younger cousins spent time at Bag End."

 

Frodo remembered nights sitting around the fire as Bilbo told exciting stories about dragons and Elves to a group of young hobbits who hung on his every word, days spent working in the garden with Sam and his family, walks and outings with Merry, Pippin, Folco, and Fatty.  They had explored the Shire, ranging far afield, knowing that they were loved at home.

 

"It's a wonderful idea, that children should grow up loved by many," Faramir said, his voice reflective.  "I would that all did.  Such is not always the case in the world of Men, I'm afraid."

 

Frodo hesitated to speak, but he was curious about the law that had so upset the others.  "Given the law Boromir described to my cousins, I think I understand," he said.

 

"And for a parent to love one child and not another can cause problems even when the children love each other."

 

Frodo could not speak for a moment.  He was sure Faramir was speaking of his own father, a distant figure of authority in his stories, but he had chosen to talk about him in general terms.  And Frodo did not want to cause him any more pain.  He couldn't understand how anyone could not love Faramir.

 

He raised a hand to touch Faramir's face.  "I love you," he said.

 

Faramir's arm tightened around him.  "I love you, Frodo.  Thank you."

 

They lay for a while, not speaking, until the pavilion was quiet. 

 

"I think it may be safe to break our fast," Faramir said.  "Then what would you like to do?"

 

Frodo had planned to suggest another trip to the hot pools, but their conversation had made him reconsider.

 

"Could we go to Cerin Amroth today?" he asked. 

 

Faramir looked at him, smiling.  "If you wish to, certainly.  I'd thought we'd spend the day resting, but what you told me about this place makes me wish to see it."

 

"But first, food," Frodo said, scrambling out from under the blankets. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

After they had eaten, they left the pavilion by the northern path.  Frodo thought the distance seemed shorter this time although perhaps the difference was within him.  And with the fact that Faramir accompanied him.  Frodo had no trouble retracing the path Aragorn had shown him. 

 

When they arrived at the mound, the grass and trees, the light upon the mound, the flowers floating like mist on the grass, all seemed exactly as Frodo had last seen it.

 

Faramir paused, looking up, seeing Cerin Amroth for the first time.  After a long while, he spoke.  "I see what you could not say, Frodo," he said.  "It's....perfect."

 

Hand in hand, they walked up the hill, not speaking. 

 

As they entered the circle of white trees, Faramir paused, tugging Frodo to a halt.  "The Sea," he said.  "It's as if I'm at Dol Amroth, can you hear it?"

 

Frodo nodded.  "I felt it before," he said. 

 

They stood a moment, feeling the South Wind and hearing the soft thunder of distant seas. 

 

They continued up the hill.  At the top, Faramir stopped by the huge tree that crowned the hill and placed his hand upon the trunk.  "Shall we climb to the flet?"

 

"Yes."

 

"You first, Frodo."

 

Frodo climbed the ladder that would take them to the high flet.  Before he stepped onto the white platform that gleamed amongst the top branches, he paused a moment, placing his hand upon the trunk of the tree.  He had never been so aware of the life glowing within a tree as he was now, touching the smooth bark, feeling its texture, smelling the scent of the leaves, sharing the delight of the living tree.

 

He stepped onto the flet and moved forward to give Faramir room.  Faramir came to his side, and they looked out from their lofty height.  To the South, Frodo saw Caras Galadhon, its huge trees rising over the forest of Lothlorien.  Light and power flowed from the Elven City. 

 

"Look, Frodo, across the River."

 

Frodo turned to the East, seeing where the trees of Lorien ran down to the silver thread of the River.  The River seemed to mark a boundary where light failed.  The lands beyond looked empty and dark.  Frodo shivered as he saw a formless shadow brooding beyond.  He thought he saw something in it searching. 

 

"What is it?" he asked.

 

"Mirkwood.  The southern realm of the forest where Dol Guldur lies.  Remember, Lorien lies between the Misty Mountains and the Great River.  Beyond the River, stretching from the Grey Mountains far into the South, is Mirkwood."

 

Frodo stepped back, chilled.  Now that Faramir reminded him, he could remember the vastness of Mirkwood on the maps he had studied in Rivendell.  In the North, Legolas's father ruled, but in the South was the realm Sauron had ruled as the Necromancer. 

 

"I remember." 

 

"Shall we sit a while?"

 

Frodo nodded, following Faramir back to join him where he sat, back against the tree.  The warmth of the tree, the shelter of its branches reassured Frodo somewhat, but he also snuggled under Faramir's arm.

 

Faramir hugged Frodo, pulled him close. 

 

"Gandalf and the White Council drove Sauron out of Mirkwood, the year Bilbo was on the quest with the Dwarves," Frodo said.  "How it is that the place is still so evil?  I can feel it from here."

 

"I do not know for certain, Frodo, but from what Gandalf said at the Council, the Enemy only feigned to retreat.  As we in Gondor knew, his servants ruled over Minas Morgul, preparing for his return.  I suspect that some servants still hold the fortress and are obedient to his will."

 

Faramir paused, then went on slowly.  "I could wish that the North and South had been more aware of each other in years past, more able to communicate what each knew.  We might have been able to move more quickly against this threat."

 

Frodo could think of nothing to say.  He agreed with Faramir, but it was too late for such might have beens.  They sat in silence a while.

 

Frodo leaned against Faramir, closing his eyes, feeling the soft wind in his face, at peace.

 

The quiet of Cerin Amroth wrapped him, not an absence of sound, but a presence in itself, a sense that all life in this place was listening to some unimaginably far off music.

 

Frodo floated, feeling as he sometimes did in the moment between sleeping and waking life, not sure if he were awake or asleep.  He thought or imagined he opened his eyes to see a grey curtain which shone silver as if the Sun rose behind it, turned to light, and faded away.

 

Huge mountains rose in front of him, higher even than the mountains that had turned the Company back, their sides smooth as glass, crowned with white. 

 

Floating, he rose over the mountains to see a great light beyond, a light that burned and healed, and as he passed through the light he saw houses, towers, and gardens, a city surrounded by an undying green land. 

 

Frodo yearned for more, hearing a sweet singing in the distance.  He realized it was this singing that all of Cerin Amroth seemed to hear. 

 

If he could get closer, perhaps he could hear more, perhaps…..

 

Frodo felt a pain, a tugging, pulling him down.  He strained, trying to move forward, but was pulled swiftly back into darkness, cold shadows closing over him. 

 

He struggled to breathe.

 

"Frodo!"  

 

Frodo strained to open his eyes, feeling hands upon him.  His head was tilted back, held, warm breath blown into him.

 

Coughing, Frodo convulsed, suddenly able to breathe, to think, to see.

 

Faramir knelt over him, holding him, as he lay on his back on the flet.  Above him, he could see green leaves in the sunlight.

 

"Faramir!"  Frodo raised his hand to touch Faramir's face, tried to sit up.  "What happened?"

 

Faramir held Frodo down.  "Don't move.  I don't know.  We were just sitting here, and it was as if you were struck down." 

 

Faramir ran his hands over Frodo, head, chest, limbs.  "You went limp, cold, and I could not feel your heart beat, or your breath.  I thought you dead."  Faramir's voice was tight, and Frodo could feel tension in his hands and arms.

 

Frodo stretched under Faramir's hands.  He felt as if he had just eaten the most stupendous meal ever created or made love with Faramir for hours, warm, relaxed, glowing.  Happy as he had not been for months.  Maybe ever. 

 

"I feel wonderful,"  Frodo said.  "I dreamed of a beautiful land, a city, I cannot describe it, but somehow it felt like this place, drowned in light."

 

Faramir sat back on his heels, frowning down at Frodo.  "We should return to Caras Galadhon," he said.  "I want to tell Aragorn what happened.  Perhaps he will know what to do for you."

 

Frodo sat up.  "I don't think I need anything," he said.  "I've not felt this good for months.  Whatever happened, I believe it was healing.  Aragorn told me this was a place of healing."

 

"Perhaps.  But I have seen death before, Frodo, and in those moments, I thought you dead.  I must talk to Aragorn."

 

Frodo sighed and agreed.  He rose to his feet and followed Faramir down the ladder, aware of the tree without needing to touch it this time.  As his feet touched the undying grass of the mound, he felt as if he were connected to a glowing web of light that extended throughout Lothlorien.

 

Frodo caught Faramir's hand as he turned to leave the mound.  "Wait a moment," Frodo said, tugging his hand.  Faramir paused, looked down. 

 

"What, Frodo?"

 

Frodo tugged harder.  "Kneel down," he said.

 

Faramir paused, then did so.

 

Frodo released his hand, stepped forward, placing a hand on either side of Faramir's face.  Looking into his blue eyes, Frodo said, "I love you," then leaned forward to kiss him.

 

As Frodo's lips touched Faramir's, he felt as if the light surrounding them closed to hold them here and knew that even though he and Faramir left this place and never returned that some part of them would remain here, that their love would be forever green.

 

Frodo opened his eyes, pulled back, released Faramir.  Faramir seemed dazed, his eyes looking beyond Frodo.  After a moment he shook his head, touched Frodo's face.

 

"What happened?" he asked.

 

"I'm not sure," Frodo said.  "But only good could happen here."

 

"I'm beginning to think you're right," Faramir said.  "But we cannot stay here.  Come."

 

He rose and took Frodo's hand again.  They walked down the hill, leaving the light of Cerin Amroth to return to the pavilion, the Company, and their quest.

 

* * * * * * *

 

When they reached the pavilion, Faramir had Frodo sit down by the fountain and went to get Aragorn who was eating with the others.  Frodo sighed.  He thought it ridiculous to bother Aragorn when he was feeling so well.

 

Faramir and Aragorn came to Frodo, and Faramir described what had happened on Cerin Amroth.  Aragorn knelt in front of Frodo and asked him to open his jacket and shirt.  Frodo did so.  Faramir sat down next to Frodo, watching Aragorn.

 

Aragorn placed his hands on either side of Frodo's head, looked into his eyes.  Placed a hand on Frodo's chest, and was still a moment, eyes closed, as if listening.  Frodo sat quietly, hearing his heart beating, aware of the warmth of Aragorn's hand.  Unlike other times, on Weathertop and in Rivendell, he felt no tingle or feeling of energy from Aragorn's  hands as they lay against his skin.

 

Aragorn sat back on his heels, his hands on his thighs, and shook his head.  "I would have to say Frodo seems to be completely healthy.  I can feel nothing wrong with him."

 

"But why would he suddenly collapse?" Faramir asked.

 

"I do not know," Aragorn said.  He looked at Frodo a moment.  "Faramir said that when you woke, you said something about a dream, a beautiful land?"

 

Frodo nodded.

 

"Can you tell me about it?"

 

Frodo thought a moment, and said, "I saw mountains, higher than any I've ever seen.  And then a beautiful green land, and a city--it's hard to describe its beauty." 

 

Closing his eyes, he tried to recapture the vision.  It had seemed to real, so immediate, but was fading from his memory, leaving a few fragmented images.  "Music," he said suddenly.  "I heard singing."

 

Aragorn lifted his head, looking at Faramir.  "Do you recognize it?" he asked. 

 

Faramir frowned, shook his head, but said, "I am not certain.  Somehow it seems familiar, but…"

 

"Tall mountains...did they seem impassable, Frodo? Snow covered?"

 

"There was  light," he said, "light that reminded me of Cerin Amroth."    

 

Faramir's arm went around Frodo, tense against his shoulders.  "No," Faramir said to Aragorn.  "It cannot be."

 

Aragorn shrugged, looking concerned.  "Frodo is the Ringbearer.  We do not know to what he may come in the end."

 

Frodo looked from one to the other, frustrated, as they looked at each other.  They obviously knew what they were talking about, but nobody was bothering to tell him.  "What?" he asked.

 

Aragorn said, "What you describe could be a vision of Valinor, of the Undying Lands."

 

Frodo was confused.  He had heard of Valinor, of course.  Many of the songs sung in Rivendell, Gandalf and Bilbo had told him, were about  the Undying Lands of the Valar.  He had read some of Bilbo's translations.  But why would this upset Faramir?

"So?"  he said, hoping for more information, laying his hand on Faramir's knee, hoping to get his attention.

 

Faramir looked at him.  "The Valar withdrew from Middle Earth to Aman after Melkor's attack.  When they established Valinor, they fortified their land by raising the mountains of the Pelori.  Only those who do not die can come to Valinor.  I have read some of the oldest scrolls in Gondor, copies of the ones Elendil brought from Numenor.  I know little, but what I know leads me to fear."

 

"Bilbo has told me some of this which he learned at Rivendell," Frodo said.  "But I do not understand why you both seem so worried.  Aragorn, you said Cerin Amroth was a place of healing.  And that I am healthy.  And I feel better than I have for some time.  It was a dream, surely, of healing."

 

"No mortal being has ever come alive to Valinor, Frodo," Faramir said.  "And although you saw this place, you appeared to die.  That is what worries us."

 

"What Faramir says is true," Aragorn said.  "As far as we know.  And yet we are in a place of great power, a power that rose in a time closer to the spring of the world.  Perhaps I can talk to the Lady Galadriel before we leave.  But grant me one favor, Frodo.  Do not return to Cerin Amroth while we are here.  It is a place of great power, and while that power is good, it can also be dangerous."

 

Frodo agreed. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

The days slid into each other, slipping from the hand like water falling, and the members of the Company began to heal both in spirit and body.  They spent time eating and walking, sometimes talking with each other, sometimes spending the time in silence. 

 

Merry and Pippin resumed training with Boromir, but Frodo and Faramir preferred to spend their time walking, or visiting the hot springs, or simply lying on the fragrant grass and talking.

 

After they had finished daymeal one evening, as the sky was starting to darken, the Lady Galadriel came to the pavilion, tall and white and beautiful in the twilight.  She asked Frodo if he would be willing to walk with her, and, awed, he agreed.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo left the Lady Galadriel standing by her Mirror in the darkening evening and climbed the stairs.  He moved slowly, feeling cold and stiff.  Her words echoed in his mind.

 

_"To bear a Ring of power is to be alone."_

_"One by one, the Ring will destroy them all."_

_"This task is appointed to you  If you do not find a way, no one will."_

The fiery Eye he had seen in the Mirror was searching for him.  As if the vision had awakened the Ring, he felt it burning on his breast, heavier than it had been since they had left Moria. 

 

Since Aragorn had taken  him to Cerin Amroth, he had been almost able to forget it was there, able to put aside the fears it roused in him.  The pain he now felt seemed to be a punishment for that time of grace.

 

 

He would have to go to Mordor alone, but he could not face the task of trying to convince them that his decision was the right one.  He took a few steps away from the path to the pavilion, feeling the weight of the Ring lessen.

 

Then, hearing his own voice, he stopped:   _"I cannot solve that problem by pretending you don’t exist because I’m afraid of being hurt."_  He had promised Faramir he would not stop speaking to him again.  What was he doing?

 

Frodo stopped, eyes shut, struggling with himself.  He felt as if he was being torn apart.  What would Gandalf have advised? 

 

He remembered their conversation in the library, Gandalf's warning that sometimes taking action to try to prevent a prophecy could be what makes it come true.  The Lady's words seemed to be a prophecy. 

 

He could see he had to go to Mordor alone, despite his fears, but he would not let those fears drive him away from the companions who had accompanied him, loved him, protected him on the way.  He would return to the pavilion.  Eventually, he would have to make them see what he had to do, or he would leave on his own.

 

Opening his eyes, Frodo forced himself to turn back onto the path that led to the pavilion. 

 

When he came into the clearing, he saw Faramir sitting by the fountain.  Everyone else seemed to be sleeping.

 

Frodo approached, walking as quietly as he could.  Faramir had not seen him yet.  He was staring into the fountain, apparently watching the water, or perhaps the stars reflected in it.  One hand trailed in the water. The light from the silver lanterns gleamed in the water, reflected onto his face.

 

As Frodo came near, Faramir looked up, smiled.

 

Frodo said nothing, threw his arms around Faramir's neck, holding him as tightly as he could.  Burying his face against Faramir's neck, Frodo felt the warmth of his skin, inhaled his scent. 

 

"Frodo?  Are you all right?"  Faramir's arms came gently around him, but Frodo didn't want gentleness.  Pressing forward, Frodo bit Faramir's neck, hard.

 

Faramir's arms tightened around him.

 

"Frodo!"

 

Frodo pressed closer, grinding his hips against Faramir, lifting his head to press a frantic kiss on him.  Faramir's arms shifted, and he stood, lifting Frodo, and carried him back to their blankets 

 

Faramir set Frodo down, reclined beside him. 

 

"Frodo, what happened?"

 

Frodo shook his head.  "Later," he said.  He pulled his jacket and shirt off, fumbled the Ring off and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket, pushing the clothing under his pillow.  Reached forward to push against Faramir's chest, push him over, leaned over to kiss him.  Faramir hesitated, then his arms came up, holding Frodo, and he opened his mouth to Frodo's kiss. 

 

Frodo wanted to drown in sensation, forget if only for a while what he had seen in the Mirror, what the Lady had told him.  Faramir, responding to his desire, held him, pulled his trousers off roughly, pushed him over and down on his belly. 

 

Frodo spread his legs, trembling, and Faramir moved over him, fumbling briefly with his own clothes, then thrust in quickly, deeply.  Frodo cried out, thrust back, bracing himself against his arms, wordlessly demanding more.  His heart pounding, Frodo pushed himself and Faramir until, breath tearing at their lungs and skins slick with sweat, they lay exhausted under the stars.

 

Next to Frodo, Faramir brushed back his hair with a hand that trembled.  "Frodo, what happened?"

 

Frodo lay, eyes closed, wishing he did not have to speak, wishing that the Lady had not come to him.  Finally, briefly, he spoke of the visions he had seen in her Mirror, what she had told him when they spoke.  He felt Faramir shudder when he described his offer to give her the Ring, and what she had said.

 

"By the White Tree," he said, "that is a test I should not like to face."

 

Frodo hesitated, weary and afraid of telling Faramir what he thought the Lady's words meant.  But his promise bound him, he had to speak.  Haltingly, he told him that the Lady had warned him that Boromir would attempt to take the Ring.  That her words seemed to clearly tell him that he would have to go on alone, or risk the destruction of the Fellowship, of all those, save Bilbo safe in Rivendell, that he loved in the world.

 

Faramir was silent, holding Frodo.  Finally, he spoke.  "I understand why you feel this way, Frodo, but this is something we must discuss with our companions.  I do not think you can make this decision alone.  The Council appointed a group so that you would have advisors as well as protectors.  Talk to Aragorn at least."

 

Frodo sighed, and agreed, too weary to argue.  Faramir buried his face in Frodo's hair, and said softly, "Even if you try to leave, I will follow you, you know."

 

Frodo turned to put his arms around Faramir.  "What of your dream?" he asked.  "What is Boromir dies because you leave him?"

 

Faramir said nothing, simply holding Frodo until, at last, sleep took them both.

 

** _February 15, 3018_ ** ** __ **

** **

Boromir sat resting against one of the mallorn trees after nuncheon, watching Merry and Pippin, who were sitting some distance away, clean and sharpen their swords.  Hearing part of their current discussion, Boromir called out to them.  "The goal isn't to finish first, you know, but to do a good job and not injure yourself."

 

They looked at him, at each other, then at him and smiled as they nodded.  But he didn't notice them slowing down much.  He sighed.  He could only hope that any injury would not be serious and would teach them the virtue of taking care.

 

Boromir was immediately aware of Aragorn when he entered the clearing and walked to Boromir's side.  Leaning against the tree, Aragorn stood, looking down, spoke in a low voice.

 

"I have just come from talking to Celeborn.  We will be leaving tomorrow.  I'll tell the others later at daymeal."

 

Boromir nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on Merry and Pippin.  He would be glad to be back on the road.  Despite the dangers of the journey, he thought he would be able to sleep better outside this place.  Perhaps he could leave his sense of failure in Lothlorien.  He had come to the conclusion that while the Golden Wood was not as perilous as rumour in Gondor had it, Aragorn was right in saying it would change those who entered.  He would be glad to leave.

 

Merry and Pippin finished, sheathed their swords, and went off together.  Boromir was aware of Aragorn watching him.  Of the silence.  He looked up to see a faint frown on Aragorn's face.  Boromir said nothing.

 

Finally, Aragorn spoke.  "I have thought long, Boromir, before coming to you.  I wish to take you to Cerin Amroth before we leave."

 

Boromir stood, uneasy, moved several paces away from Aragorn before turning to speak to him.

 

Faramir had told him something about this place, apparently the heart of all that was uncanny in Lothlorien, and about Frodo's experiences there.

 

"I do not think I wish to go there," Boromir said.

 

"Why?"

 

Boromir shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding Aragorn's eyes.  He would not say he feared although he had no other reason.

 

"I did not wish to come to Lothlorien," he said, "and although I believe the stories in Gondor about it are false, I do not wish to face this power."

 

"It will not harm you," Aragorn said quietly.  "Although it may change you."

 

Boromir could think of nothing to say. 

 

"I would ask you to trust me in this," Aragorn said, stepping forward to lay his hand on Boromir's shoulder.

 

Closing his eyes, Boromir felt his breath catch, swallowed.  He had to trust Aragorn who  had earned that trust many times over.  So he had to master his fear and follow Aragorn, as he would follow him into any battle.

 

He opened his eyes.  "Very well," he said.  "I will go with you."

 

Aragorn said nothing, but he smiled as he gripped Boromir's shoulder a moment.  Then, releasing Boromir, Aragorn turned and headed North.

 

Hand tight on his swordhilt, Boromir followed, soon catching up to walk by Aragorn's side.  If he had to do this, he wished it done as quickly as possible. 

 

They spoke little as they walked, and saw no others of their company or of Lothlorien.  Time seemed to halt. 

 

Boromir saw a clearing ahead of them in the woods where the sun shone richly down.  He welcomed the light which he had missed under the huge trees of Caras Galadhon.

 

A mound rose in front of his eyes, with trees growing around it at regular intervals, as if planted.  The outer circle was white, with no leaves, the inner circle, mallorns, still bearing golden leaves.  A large tree grew in the center, one of the Elven platforms high in its branches.

 

Boromir relaxed.  The place was beautiful but not unearthly as he'd gathered from Faramir's description.  Some of the glades of Ithilien and Imloth Melui in Gondor were as fair.

 

He walked up the mound beside Aragorn.  When they reached the top, they sat.  Aragorn watched him intently. 

 

"It's beautiful," Boromir said, feeling as if something was expected of him, but unsure what. 

 

Feeling weary under the weight of the sun, Boromir leaned back, closing his eyes.

 

"Are you thirsty?"

 

Boromir opened his eyes to see Aragorn offering him a flask.  Boromir nodded, took the flask, rose to one arm and drank.  The flask held wine, not the Elven drink he'd become accustomed to.

 

"Where did this come from?" he asked, returning the flask.

 

"The Elves trade with Men at times," Aragorn said, drinking in his turn.  "Legolas brought back some bottles of wine yesterday."

 

Boromir relaxed for what felt like the first time since they had crossed the borders of Lothlorien.  He did not want to talk to Aragorn about Minas Tirith, and did not trust any other topic not to lead back to what lay unspoken between them. 

 

 

When the song ended, Boromir opened his eyes lazily, smiling, to see Aragorn sitting next to him, watching him.  As if it were now the easiest thing in the world to make the small move that would change his life, Boromir reached out, clasped Aragorn's shoulder, feeling his hair twine around his fingers, and tugged him down.

 

Aragorn smiled, leaned over, kissed him, his mouth warm and rich with wine.  The music returned.

 

After an endless moment, Aragorn sat back, his hand warm on Boromir's chest.  "Do you regret coming to Cerin Amroth?" he asked.

 

Boromir shook his head.  "I am not sure why I feared it," he said.  "It makes me think of home."

 

Aragorn nodded, but said nothing except "Perhaps we should return."

 

Boromir agreed, regretfully, and so they stood and left Cerin Amroth, walking side by side, as they returned to the Fellowship.

 

* * * * * * *

** **

** _February 16:  The Company leaves Lorien and travel down the Anduin.  On February 23, they are attacked near Sarn Gebir.  February 25, they pass the Argonath and set up camp at Parth Galen._ **

** **

** _February 26, 3018_ ** ** __ **

 

Frodo backed away as quickly as he could move uphill, afraid to take his eyes off Boromir.  He had become so used to traveling and camping among trees that he had not realized why the wooded slopes above Parth Galen had haunted him with a sense of familiarity.  Even when Boromir had first spoken to him, Frodo had not taken alarm. 

 

The weeks of traveling with Boromir and all that had taken place--his defense of Frodo outside Moria, his plea to Frodo to help him deal with Merry and Pippin's advances in Lothlorien--had lulled Frodo's fear of him.

 

But now Frodo shuddered, cold with shock.  The moment Boromir had spoken of wishing to defend his people and city, Frodo had recognized the words from his dream.  The ruined statues of dead Kings frowned over them. 

 

Stumbling, Frodo recognized the nightmare feeling that he was trapped, that he would not be able to flee, that Boromir would take the Ring from him. 

 

 

Frodo heard footsteps behind him and despaired.  The Orcs he had dreamt of.  But before he could turn to face this new threat, Faramir threw himself at Boromir, knocking him down.  The two rolled downhill until stopped by a fallen log. 

 

"Frodo, run!"  Faramir shouted at him, grabbing Boromir's wrist as he snatched a broken branch off the ground.

 

 

Frodo now knew with a cold certainty that he had to leave the Fellowship before the Ring took any of his other Companions.  But he could not leave without knowing what happened to Faramir. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Boromir!"

 

Boromir blinked as the mist faded from before his eyes.  He was lying on the ground, pinned under his brother's knee.  Faramir slapped him once, then again. 

 

Boromir broke Faramir's hold on his arms, and grabbed his wrist as he raised it a third time. 

 

"What're you doing?  What happened?"

 

Faramir rolled off and sat beside him, breathing hard.  "Don't you remember?"

 

"What?"

 

Boromir was confused, feeling he should be angry at his brother but not knowing why.  His face stung.

 

"You tried to take the Ring from Frodo."

 

"What?"  Boromir had to shift to sit up because his head was downhill.  He finally twisted around and pushed himself up, then nearly fell back when pain seemed to split his head.  He sat with his head in his hands.  He closed his eyes, tried to think. 

 

He'd been collecting wood for tonight's fire.  The hobbits shouldn't wander alone, but he was armed and trained, so he was willing to do that chore by himself.  And, yes, like a bad dream remembered as the light of day comes through the window, he began to recall what had happened. 

 

_Frodo, alone in the woods.  In danger.  Boromir would speak to Frodo.  He would save him._

_Surely, Frodo could see now that the Fellowship had come to Rauros that a decision had to be made.  The best road would be along the West Bank of Anduin, traveling to Minas Tirith, where they could regroup from a position of strength.  If Boromir could just talk to Frodo a moment. _

_And then Frodo changed before his eyes to a wizened slimy creature, ugly and pitiful, grasping something too beautiful for it to understand.  Something to which it had no right.  This creature was too weak to defend the Ring.  It would lose it in the wild and die in torment.  The Nameless Enemy would take the Ring and overcome Gondor.  _

_The Ring was Boromir's by right, didn't he understand, the right of his City.  Only he could use it to defend his people.  He had to take the Ring.  For Gondor._

Boromir groaned, pressing his hands hard against his temples, trying to contain the pain.  He had tried to take the Ring from Frodo.  He had failed them all. 

 

He looked up.  Faramir was standing more than an arm's length away from him, his sword drawn and ready, eyes intent on Boromir, ready to move against him if necessary.

 

"Forgive me," Boromir said wearily.  "I did try to take the Ring.  I don't know why."

 

"It's as Aragorn told us," Faramir said.  "Only the Nameless One can control the Ring.  All others it tries to corrupt.  To take over.  It was controlling you."

 

Boromir nodded.  Aragorn's words finally made sense now that he had experienced what he had.  "I didn't truly believe what Aragorn said, or realize how it could affect me," he said.  "I believe I'm free of its influence now although," he hesitated, struggling with what he had to say.  But how could he be certain.  He closed his eyes and went on, unwilling to risk such evil again.  "We must make sure I'm never alone with Frodo again."

He opened his eyes to see Faramir nod.  Boromir relaxed.  He could trust Faramir to defend Frodo from him.  From what the Ring might force him to do. 

 

Perhaps he should leave the Fellowship and return to Minas Tirith alone.

 

Faramir turned, sheathing his sword.  "I must find Frodo," he said.  "It's not safe for him to be alone."

 

Boromir nodded and rose.  "I'll return to the shore," he said.  "I should tell Aragorn what has happened.  He needs to know."  Boromir hesitated, then reached his hand toward his brother.  "My thanks," he said.

 

Faramir took his hand, used it to pull him into a hug.  Boromir closed his eyes against the tears he felt coming, held his brother tight, kissed his cheek.  He released him, said, "Find Frodo," and turned to go to Aragorn.  To tell him of his failure.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo waited until Boromir had disappeared down the hill to remove the Ring.  Faramir, who was on his hands and knees searching the ground above where he and Boromir had fought, started as Frodo appeared above him on the hill.

 

"I thought I told you to run," he said, sitting back on his heels, hands on his knees,  and regarding Frodo gravely.

 

'"You did," Frodo said.  "But I couldn't leave you not knowing what happened."

 

Faramir smiled at him, held out his arms, and Frodo walked into them for a long hug and a kiss.  Faramir pulled him down to sit next to him, an arm around his shoulders. 

 

"As it turned out, I'm glad you didn't, Frodo.  But I was afraid Boromir would defeat me." 

 

Frodo nodded.  "That's why I was afraid to leave," he said.  "How did you," he paused, not sure how to phrase it without insulting Faramir.

 

Faramir laughed.  "How did I manage not to lose?  I'm not sure, but I think the Ring couldn't fully control Boromir.  Oh, it could make him want the Ring, even make him fight me, but I suspect that some part of Boromir was fighting against that control rather than against me.  My brother is an honourable man, not perfect, but he would not easily give in to such evil."  Faramir paused, then continued, his voice serious.  "Why did you wander away by yourself, Frodo?  It was only by chance that I was searching for you in the right place and could stop Boromir from taking the Ring.  Did you not recognize the place from your dream?"

 

Frodo looked away.  "I didn't recognize it at first," he said.  "It's been so long, so much has happened since I had the dream, that I didn't even think about it." 

Silence.  Then Faramir's hand gently turned Frodo's head back to look into his eyes.  "Why were you wandering alone, Frodo?" he asked again.

 

Frodo drew a deep breath.  They had chosen not to talk about the problem after the night in Lothlorien, but he knew he had to try again to make Faramir understand.  "I have to go to Mordor alone," he said.  "Lady Galadriel told me so, that a Ringbearer must be alone.  Gandalf told me to trust in my own strength.  The Ring has already tried to take Boromir.  All who go with me are at risk, and put the Quest at risk in turn."

 

"Were you leaving today?  Without supplies? Without speaking to anyone?"  Faramir raised one eyebrow, looking skeptical.

 

"No," Frodo felt himself turning red.  "I was trying to, to, gain the courage to tell you all.  And find the words to convince you."

 

"You're wrong, Frodo.  No," he held up his hand as Frodo opened his mouth to speak, "hear me out.  I understand the Lady and Mithrandir told you these things, but I don't believe they mean you must travel alone.  Lord Elrond created the Fellowship to aid you in your Quest.  He is known for his foresight.  Would he not have warned us if you needed to travel into Mordor alone?"

 

"Yet he did not foresee what Boromir would do," Frodo said.  "The Lady did.  I must go alone."

 

Faramir rose to his feet, held his hand out to Frodo.  "Return with me, and let us speak to the rest of our Company.  I believe Aragorn is considering the possibility that some of us will accompany you to Mordor while others do not.  The Fellowship does not agree on the road from here, and without Mithrandir's counsel, we are left to find our own way."

 

Frodo took Faramir's hand and was pulled to his feet.

 

"I would now recommend that Boromir escort Merry and Pippin to Minas Tirith, perhaps accompanied by Gimli.  Aragorn, Legolas, and I can go with you to Mordor."  Faramir began walking downhill.  "Surely you can trust Aragorn's word?  And the Elves have never been tempted by the Nameless Enemy's Ring from what Legolas has told me."

 

Frodo felt exhausted.  He thought that perhaps he would allow the others to talk, then, no matter what was decided, he would leave on his own tonight with the help of the Ring.  Frodo followed Faramir down the hill.

 

Suddenly, the deep notes of a great horn rang through the air.  Faramir released Frodo's hand, turned to the left, drawing his sword.  "The Horn of Gondor," he cried.  He ran several steps, then stopped.  Frodo could see the strain in his body as he forced himself to turn back to Frodo.

 

He returned to Frodo's side and knelt, grasping his shoulder with his free hand.  "Frodo, promise me you'll return to the River and wait for me.  Use the Ring only if you must to save yourself."

 

"I will," Frodo said, thinking he now had the chance to leave without further argument.

 

Faramir shook him, hard.  "Frodo, look at me."

 

Frodo looked into Faramir's eyes.  Faramir's face was strained, his eyes intent and voice low but strong.

 

"Frodo, if I wanted the Ring, I could have taken it any night you slept.  By the White Tree, I would not pick it up if I found it lying in the road.  I fought my brother to save you.  I will not leave you to attempt the road to Mordor alone.  If you leave without me, I will track you, follow you as I did Boromir.  Will you swear to me you will not leave until I return?"

 

"I swear," Frodo whispered and meant it.  He could no longer fight Faramir's will, and his words had shaken Frodo.  Truly, if Faramir had desired the Ring, he would have taken it by now.

 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Boromir turned from Faramir and headed through the woods, back to the shore.  He would have to tell Aragorn how he had failed them all.  His vulnerability to the Ring's evil had to be known before a decision could be made.  He now knew that the Ring could not go to Gondor, that their only hope lay in Frodo's will and the quest to Mordor.  Aragorn had been right from the start.

 

He heard cries and the clash of weapons in the distance.  Boromir halted, listening hard, but dared not take the time to go to the shore or to try to find Faramir who needed to find Frodo in any case.  There were others of the Fellowship who might be at risk.  Drawing his sword, Boromir ran through the trees, following the sounds.

 

As he followed the sounds into a clearing, he saw Merry and Pippin trapped between two groups of Orcs, larger than Boromir had seen before, bearing the mark of a White Hand.  Boromir flung himself between the two hobbits and the closest orc who was bearing an axe. 

 

Calling to Merry and Pippin to run, he slew the orc in front of him.  Many more were approaching, the groups coming from two directions merging, and he began to retreat, covering Merry and Pippin.  They fought as well, with blades and stones, and a small part of him rejoiced to see how well they had learned.  The rest of him tried to ignore the cold assessment that they were all likely to be killed. 

 

In a moment snatched between fights, he sounded the Horn of Gondor.  They were on the boundaries of the old kingdom, so perhaps some of its power could bring others of the Fellowship to their aid.

 

Boromir began to feel they might escape as the Orcs fell back, reluctant to engage him after he had killed a number of them. 

 

 

Faramir appeared, running through trees, crashing into the orc, knocking the bow out of his hands. 

 

Boromir killed the two approaching him but could stand no longer, falling to his knees. 

 

His vision narrowed to the bloody sword in front of him, the pain in his shoulder growing, drowning out the sound of the battle as it roared in his ears.  He tried to see, caught glimpses of Faramir fighting the orc who had dropped his bow and was using a sword. 

 

Boromir saw Merry and Pippin snatched up by orcs who ran, orcs who did not stand and fight, did not simply kill them, but took them and ran, breaking as they ran around him, not pausing to stop and kill him. 

 

Boromir saw his sword fall from his hand, felt himself on the ground, the pain rolling in waves through him.  Shut his eyes.

 

"Boromir_!  Boromir!_  Brother, please!"

 

Boromir forced his eyes open.  Faramir knelt over him, bloody hands pressing a cloth down on his shoulder.  The pain still throbbed, but the arrow was out.  Boromir was glad to see it.  Orcs often poisoned their weapons.

 

"The hobbits," Boromir gasped.  "They've taken them.  Merry, Pippin, the Orcs…"

 

"I saw," Faramir said.  "Forgive me, I cannot stay to help any more…"

 

"Frodo?"  Boromir licked dry lips.  If Frodo, lost in the woods, were to be found by the Orcs, then all would be lost. 

 

"Yes, I have to return to him."

 

Boromir relaxed.  "You found him?"

 

"He never left, just put the Ring on when we fought.  I sent him to the River when I heard your Horn."

  
Boromir realized the Horn had brought him aid as the legend had said it would.  "Go," he said.  "Give me my sword.  Go to Frodo."

 

Faramir hesitated.  "Before I do, I want to tell you why I insisted on coming to Im--to Rivendell with you."

 

Boromir blinked, eyes stinging from sweat, wondering why Faramir was talking about that now.  But he said nothing, not wanting to delay him any longer.

 

"I had a dream," Faramir said, "one in which I saw you die, pierced by many arrows, fighting Orcs bearing the sign of a White Hand.  I had to come," he stopped speaking.

 

Boromir saw the tears in his eyes, and reached out his right hand, laying it on his brother's shoulder.  He knew his father had scorned Faramir as weak all his life, unable to see the truth in his fondness for Boromir.  He only hoped he would be able to return to Gondor and tell his father this new truth.  And that they would all live to see it.

 

"Faramir," he said, pressing his shoulder.  "I love you.  I thank you.  But you must go to Frodo.  You must tell him, from me, the Ring must not go to Gondor.  No matter what happens, keep Frodo away from Minas Tirith.  From…..Lord Denethor."

 

Faramir nodded.  Reached over and picked up Boromir's sword, bloody and dirty, and held it for him to grasp.  "I will," he said.  He kissed Boromir on the lips, stood, and ran back through the trees.

 

Boromir clenched his teeth, pushed himself to his knees, gripping his sword.  Black waves rose in front of his eyes, and he panted.  If he rested a few moments, perhaps he could make it to his feet.  Then he'd wait whatever came. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Frodo sat quietly under his Elven cloak, hoping it would shield him from unfriendly eyes.  When he had put the Ring on earlier, he had felt that the flaming Eye was searching for him, was close to discovering him.  He dared not put it on unless he feared for his life. 

 

After he had left Faramir in the woods, he had moved as quietly as he could through the woods, trying to leave no trace of his passage.  He had heard the sound of fighting in the distance and feared for the others. 

 

When he had approached their camp at Parth Galen, he had stood under the trees a while, watching.  He could see no sign of a fight.  Their packs were stacked neatly, the boats drawn up on the shore.  The fire Gimli had built was dying down into embers.  None of his Companions were there.  He'd sat down under a tree to wait for Faramir. 

 

Remembering his dream and the sound of Boromir's horn sounding through the woods, Frodo shuddered.  To distract himself from his fears, he tried to remember all that he had learned studying the maps in Elrond's library.  He was determined to try to go to Mordor with as few companions as possible, and he had to try to decide what road would be best to take from Rauros.

 

He knew that the hills of the Emyn Muil rose on both sides of the River, and that the Falls were deep within, on the Southern border.  From what Celeborn had told them, after the Falls, the River then flowed into fens where the Entwash flowed out of Fangorn Forest to join it.  Celeborn had warned them against going into Fangorn.  The land of the Rohirrim lay to the West, and to the East, the Emyn Muil and Dead Marshes, then Cirith Gorgor.  Frodo thought that the best way might be to cross the River here from Parth Galen, then travel through Emyn Muil and the Dead Marshes to the Black Gate. 

 

Frodo stiffened as he heard someone approaching, his hand touching the Ring.  When he saw Faramir step out of the trees, he relaxed.  Frodo stood and called Faramir's name softly.

 

Faramir hastened to Frodo who grasped his arm when he saw blood on his hands and clothing.  "Are you hurt?"

 

"No, Frodo.  It's Boromir's.  He's alive," Faramir said, "but injured.  He was fighting Orcs of the White Hand.  But he gave me dire news."  Faramir knelt by Frodo, took his hand.  "Merry and Pippin were captured.  He was injured trying to defend them, and saw the Orcs take them."

 

Frodo gripped Faramir's hand, stunned by the news that his best friends were captured.

 

"We must help them," he said.

 

Faramir took his other hand.  "Frodo, I understand.  But listen.  I have never seen Orcs take captives before.  More, they did not stop to fight me or kill Boromir after they captured your cousins.  I fear they are under the command of some stronger will.  Who knows what news they will take back with them.  And if they return, or others do, and capture you and the Ring, then all will be lost.  We must leave now."

 

Frodo closed his eyes, seeing Gandalf fall again and tasting the despair he had felt knowing he must go on.  This final bitterness, that he must leave his cousins to suffer, perhaps die, and never know their fates, was worse in some ways.  But Faramir was right.  He had to try to continue the journey to Mt. Doom. 

 

"Very well," he said.

 

Faramir hugged him.  "Take heart, Frodo.  Boromir lives, and I must believe that Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas do as well.  They will not abandon Merry and Pippin."

 

Frodo nodded.  He was surprised to see Faramir rise and go to the pile of packs where he pulled out not only his and Frodo's but Merry and Pippin's.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

Faramir rummaged through the packs.  "Merry and Pippin do not need the supplies, but we will.  I'm taking lembas and their waterbottles, an extra blanket."  He pulled out the winter clothing they had not worn since Hollin and refilled their packs with the extra supplies.

 

Frodo understood the logic though it pained him.  He went to the boats and started pulling one toward the water.

 

Faramir carried the packs over to him, put them in the boat on top of the coils of Elven rope in the bow.

 

"Do not launch the boat, yet," he said.  "We need to talk about our road."

 

"I thought we'd cross the River to the Emyn Muil," Frodo said.  "And make our way to the Black Gate."

 

"There is no safe way in these lands," Faramir said.  "But I fear trying to approach the Morannon.  We know little of the Enemy's land, but the Towers of the Black Gate were built by Gondor.  When our strength waned, he took them, building the stone rampart and iron gate that are guarded night and day.  The lands before the Gate are bare and lifeless for leagues.  I fear we would have little success trying to enter Mordor that way."

 

Frodo said wearily, "I have no great hope of success by any road.  But I cannot turn aside from this doom."

 

"I do not ask you to.  But I know there is an ancient portage way that will take us to the foot of the Falls.  There, we can take to the water again.  We can travel further down Anduin, leaving when we choose to travel through Ithilien, approaching Mordor from the West.  That way is not so heavily guarded."

 

"But it takes us past Minas Morgul," Frodo protested, remembering Faramir's hand lying beside his on the map when they were safe in Rivendell, his history of how Minas Ithil was taken and turned to evil by the Black Riders.  Frodo shivered, feeling a cold pain in his shoulder, leaned on the boat. 

 

"True," Faramir said.  "But that way is less traveled, and I know many secret paths through Ithilien for I served there many years.  I can make no guarantee of success, but I believe this road may take us further."

 

Frodo thought that hours of study could not match the knowledge of one who had walked the ground.  He trusted Faramir's knowledge to take them as far as possible before the inevitable end, an end he tried not to dwell on.

 

"I will follow you," Frodo said.  He sighed, remembering the hours of weary work it took the Fellowship to carry their boats and packs around the rapids of Sarn Gebir.  And now, it would be only him and Faramir.  Frodo picked up his pack.  "Shall we start?" he asked.

 

* * * * * * *

Boromir stood, his back against the tree, and held his sword in both hands although he was fairly sure his left arm was useless.  He could feel blood soaking through the cloth Faramir had hastily secured under his mail.  Cries and the clash of weapons sounded faintly through the trees, but no enemy approached him. 

 

Then, hearing the sounds of someone rapidly approaching, Boromir set his teeth, raised his sword, to see Aragorn run into the clearning, sword drawn.

 

"Boromir!"

 

Boromir let his sword sag, closed his eyes in relief, felt Aragorn's arm around him, easing his fall to the ground.  Aragorn tugged the sword from Boromir's hand and set it aside, knelt beside him. 

 

"What happened?"

 

Facing a pain greater than the one in his shoulder, Boromir spoke.  "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo.  I failed you all.  Faramir stopped me."  He looked into Aragorn's eyes, expecting to see contempt or anger, certainly rejection, but saw instead concern and something more.

 

"You fought bravely," Aragorn started, but Boromir interrupted him.  He had to know all.

 

"I failed again.  I was coming to tell you when I heard the fighting.  Found Merry and Pippin under attack.  They were taken by Orcs when I was wounded.  Someone must go after them."  Boromir could not bring himself to speak to Aragorn about Faramir's dream.

 

"What of Frodo?"

 

"My brother has gone to find him.  He helped me fight the Orcs.  Left after tending my injury.  You must go." 

 

"But first, your wound."

 

Boromir lay quietly as Aragorn gently pulled layers of clothing and mail aside, removed the bloody cloth.  He shuddered as he felt Aragorn's hands on him. 

 

Almost forgetting pain in the pleasure of Aragorn's touch, Boromir grasped his shoulder, remembering Cerin Amroth.

 

Aragorn paused, smiled at him.  "The wound is not poisoned," he said.  "And should heal cleanly."

 

"You must leave me," Boromir insisted.  "Go after Merry and Pippin."

 

Aragorn shook his head.  "I will not abandon any of our Company."  He placed his hands on Boromir's shoulder again, closed his eyes.  Boromir felt a burning sensation in his shoulder, then the pain lessened.  He felt weak.

 

Aragorn sat back.  "We must return to camp," he said.  "Do you think you can walk?"

 

Boromir sat up.  He felt dizzy, trembled at the effort.  "I do not think so," he said.  "Leave me."

 

Legolas and Gimli appeared in the trees, weapons ready.  Seeing Aragorn and Boromir, they came to their side.

 

"We've been hunting Orcs in the wood," Legolas said.  "Have we come too late?"

 

Aragorn told them of Merry and Pippin's capture, that Faramir was with Frodo.  He said nothing of Boromir's confession to him, laid a hand on Boromir's arm when he tried to speak and tell his companions of his failure.

 

"We need to get Boromir back to camp," Aragorn said.  "I have done what I could, but need the supplies I carry to treat him.  And we must see if Frodo and Faramir have returned there.  If they have not, we must try to find them."

 

"We must pursue the Orcs," Gimli said, wiping his axe.  "We cannot let the young hobbits suffer at their hands."

 

"We will," Aragorn said.  "But we cannot afford to choose our road hastily and perhaps come to disaster.  Legolas, can you help me with Boromir?"

 

Legolas nodded, slinging his bow over one shoulder and coming forward.  Boromir was surprised at Legolas' gentle strength as he pulled him to his feet, supported him until Aragorn could come to his other side.  Gimli picked up his sword and followed them back to the camp.

 

When they arrived at their camp, all could see in a moment that one of the boats was missing. 

 

Legolas and Aragorn set Boromir down, covering him with a blanket.  Aragorn asked Gimli to built up the fire and set water to boil, then went off to search the ground.  He also examined the packs closely.  Legolas began to clean Boromir's sword.

 

Aragorn soon came back to where Legolas and Gimli were watching Boromir. 

 

"No Orcs have been here," he said.  "I can see all our footprints, but the earth does not show clearly which are most recent.  Yet not only the boat but also Frodo's and Faramir's packs are gone.  And Merry and Pippin's packs have been disturbed, the lembas and their waterbottles taken.  I can only assume that Frodo and Faramir decided to continue the quest on their own."

 

"But why?" Gimli said.  "Why would they flee if no Orcs attacked?"

 

Boromir looked at Aragorn who frowned faintly, shook his head at him.  "I am not sure," he said.  "Boromir, you said Faramir fought the Orcs with you, knew that Merry and Pippin were captured?"

 

Boromir nodded.  "And went to find Frodo."

 

"Let us assume Faramir and Frodo are together, for who else would have taken their packs," Aragorn said.  "If, when Faramir found Frodo, all they knew was that Merry and Pippin were taken captive, Boromir injured, they could have decided to leave rather than risk the Ring's capture.  These Orcs are behaving in strange ways.  Faramir must have realized the risk even if Frodo did not."

 

"Leaving us without word is a strange deed," Gimli said.

 

Aragorn sighed, rising to check the water.  "Strange, perhaps, but also brave.  I know Frodo has long thought he must go to Mordor alone.  I do not know all that the Lady Galadriel's Mirror revealed to him, but it only made him more determined to take no friend with him when he left.  I am only glad that somehow Faramir was able to persuade Frodo to accept his company."

 

"Should some of us follow them, join them?" Legolas asked, setting Boromir's sword next to him.

 

Aragorn searched his pack, pulled out a wrapped cloth, and dropped dried leaves into the steaming water.  He set the pot down to cool, returned to Boromir's side.

 

"We must follow the Orcs and rescue our companions before they bring them or news of them to our enemies."

 

Legolas nodded, and Gimli growled agreement.

 

"Then you must leave me," Boromir insisted.  "I will only slow you down."

 

Aragorn retrieved the pot of water, found a clean cloth, and washed Boromir's shoulder without speaking.  "The wound is already starting to heal," he said.  "You need to eat, and I want you to take some &lt;i&gt;miruvor&lt;/i&gt;.  We must travel light and as fast as we can, but I believe that you will be able to stay with us although it will be hard."

 

Boromir looked at his shoulder, shocked, seeing the wound already closed, as if days had passed. 

 

"What did you do?" he asked, looking at Aragorn with wonder.

 

Aragorn smiled.  "Practiced some of those Elvish arts which you do not appreciate, my friend," he said.  "Now eat and drink.  Legolas and Gimli, help me.  We must leave what we do not need, pack only food and water."

 

Legolas brought Boromir lembas, and the flask Aragorn carried.  Boromir ate two of the sweet elven cakes, feeling ravenous, as if he had fasted for days, and drained the last of the cordial at Aragorn's urging. 

 

By the time he had finished, the others had stored what they could not carry under the boats and made up light packs for all save Boromir. 

 

Aragorn came and knelt by him.  "I think you must abandon your mail as well," he said.

 

Boromir hesitated, then agreed.  While he felt stronger, he knew he could not travel far and fast in the heavy layers of mail and leather.  Aragorn helped him to his feet and performed a squire's office.  Keeping only his tunic under his Elven cloak, Boromir abandoned the heavy mail, the padded undercoat, and leathers. 

 

As they prepared to leave the camp and return to where Merry and Pippin had been captured, Boromir stopped Aragorn. 

 

"Here," he said, offering him his gauntlets embossed with the White Tree.  They had been a present from his father when he became High Warden. 

 

Aragorn looked into his eyes.  "Why?"

 

"I know now you were right, that the Ring must not go to Gondor.  I told Faramir so.  But," Boromir hesitated, forced himself on.  "But you must come to Gondor.  You are the rightful King.  I would have you wear these in token of my allegiance."

 

In silence, Aragorn considered him, then took the gauntlets from his hands, donned them.

 

"Is that all you want," he asked softly.  "For me to rule Gondor?

Boromir drew a deep breath.  He knew his father would disdain him perhaps disown him for entering into any relationship with a man, let alone this man.  The nobles of Gondor accepted that youths might have temporary liasions with older men as part of moving into adulthood, but expected that such relationships were left behind as men moved into marriage later in life. 

 

Boromir no longer cared what his father thought.  "No," he said.  "I want you.  I do not yet understand all that may mean."  Boromir thought but could not yet speak the word _love_.  He thought Aragorn understood what he could not say. "But I will no longer deny what I feel."

 

Aragorn nodded, tightening the straps. 

 

"No one can tell what will come," he said.  "For now, with or without hope, let us follow our enemies."

 

Aragorn led the way, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir following.  As they climbed back up the wooded hill, Boromir felt light, as if more than his mail had been removed. 

 


End file.
